SS Katherine
by Something Illusory
Summary: AU/DELENA "Love. Hate. Such a fine line." The story of the most elegant and highly praised cruise ship from the Pierce Cruise Line and how it brought out the most in an Italian and a New Yorker.
1. Blue Ticket

_The S.S. Katherine is the most elegant and expensive steamboat from the Pierce cruise line. Competing with hundreds like it, it remains the most talked about ship with the media and has managed to keep four out of five stars in all its years of service._

* * *

Elena fumbled with the bright blue ticket between her fingers. She gnawed on her lip, uncertain, and thought twice about what she was going to do. Beside her was a bright gold luggage cart that contained suitcases and bags galore, each of them holding her most prized and necessary belongings. She could not believe that she was so close from doing something this...drastic. How could she ever bring herself to leave New York? The city held countless memories that she would never be able to erase from her mind (even if she wanted to). New York held a familiar scent of meaning to her from the hotdogs stands near Central Park to the sweaty tang of human body odor in Times Square. There were, on occasion, celebrities. There were tourists. There were museums and artists and writers and television and shows and Saturday Night Live and Broadway and everything she could never imagine herself leaving behind. Mostly there was her apartment, filled with pictures of things she would never see again and people she could never hold again. How could she ever leave it all behind?

The answer? She couldn't.

Even if the blue piece of paper was worth a lot of money. Even if it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. She was never one to take risks, anyway. She was a journalist. She liked staying at home and writing movie reviews and interviewing local businesses that were overlooked by the bigger corporations. She loved jumping in a van to buy a cheap purse that she would never use and then go home and write it all down. How the sellers looked when they asked her if she was a cop. How they scouted the streets like hawks as she dragged herself inside of the van, eager and anxious...

But this? No. She could not do this.

So...why was she standing here with her luggage? What had possessed her to actually pack her belongings and meet up at the dock? Her ticket suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. She let it slip through her fingers and fall to the ground. Just when the wind was about to carry it away, and she was done staring at it, she decided to pick it back up. As she knelt down arm extended, two pale fingers came forward and snatched it off of the concrete. Elena looked up, startled.

"Careful, somebody might try and take that off of you."

The bright white smile of her friend made her instantly feel guilty. Seconds ago she was considering on backing away and mentally slapping herself for even thinking about doing what she was supposed to. How idioic of her to forget that Rebekah was more excited than a little girl in a new dress. "Right, thanks." she laughed, taking the evil blue paper back in her hands. Her eyes travelled to the luggage cart that was trailing closely behind her friend. It was silver and more complex. Obviously more expensive, but that was Rebekah for you.

"Oh no." Rebekah frowned suddenly. "Don't tell me you're chickening out."

"I'm not," Elena countered quickly, brow creasing. "I just..I'm thinking about how much I'm going to miss it here."

"Elena," her friend sighed. "We talked about this. The more you think about it, the worse you feel. Just get on board and next thing you know we're in England. That simple." It was then, as her friend turned, Elena noticed the wide variety of people shuffling around her. They, too, had luggage carts piled with bags and purses and Elena briefly wondered what would happen if one of those carts toppled into the ocean by mistake. It was quite busy and she watched as the people scattered like ants to try and make it onto the ship. There were women with their expensive fur coats and men with their gentleman-like tuxidos. There were children with pretty bows and little trousers racing each other up the ramps only to be stopped politely by the ticket masters. The other future passengers looked excited and happy. So why wasn't she? Rebekah clapped her hands and waved over some sort of bus boy. He looked to be in his early twenties and Elena almost laughed at loud how obvious the next few minutes would go. Rebekah would charm him with her beautiful English ethnicity, beautiful eyes, and large breasts. He was a typical New Yorker falling all over the proof that there was more to life than tall buildings and taxis. Soon the poor lad was carting around both Rebekah's and Elena's luggage, promising to store it safely just for them.

"Do keep them safe," Rebekah ordered, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. "I have...valuables...in there."

He nodded politely and then urged them forward to the ticket master. Elena took a deep breath, legs trembling in anticipation. Here she goes about to throw the entire past year away. Well, not away entirely, but well away enough that by the time she came back to it she would be a different person. She would make the transition from New Yorker to tourist - something she never thought she'd be in her entire life. Tourists were ugly people that walked around in boring trends and held pointless maps in their hands. This subway took you uptown. This, downtown. How freaking hard was that? Stay away from Central Park at night. Never take the subway without a buddy. Keep your mouth shut because nobody was afraid to shut it for you. Now she would become part of the unknown. Nonetheless, on a ship that was sailing further than she had ever been in her entire life.

"Hello." the master greeted them, taking Rebekah's ticket and stamping it with some sort of official watermark. Rebekah crossed the ramp and stepped foot onto the ship, turning around to squeal as Elena followed soon after.

That was it.

Simple as that.

"We're on! We're on!" Her blond, british friend cheered. She earned the two of them disgusted looks from the richer, more fanciful passengers that made no notion that boarding the most elegant ship of the most top notch cruise line was any big deal at all. Rebekah, who often prided herself in money and appearances, cleared her throat and tucked her chin into the air. "I mean..come, Elena. Let us check in for our rooms."

Elena laughed and followed obediently, trying very hard to forget the fact they would be making port in less than two hours. Their rooms were standard. Yet even for standard they were truthfully beautiful. Complete with two queen sized beds, a bathroom with a shower and tub, a small kitchen area, and dining room, Elena wondered what the Golden Rooms looked like. Those rooms were reserved strictly for rich passengers like celebrities and presidents and CEOs.

"Mine!" Rebekah screeched, throwing herself obnoxiously on the bed closest to the wall.

"Argh," Elena growled. "I wanted that one."

"But now you must take the one by the door. Which is better because if a murderer comes in, he'll get you first and give me time to escape."

Elena shook her head in disbelief. "You're unmanageable."

The two guys lay on their own beds in silence, listening to the waves crash against the ship somewhere outside the window. They could hear feet down the hallway and they could hear whistles blowing and people walking to and forth the entire ship. It was silent for a very long time before Rebekah whispered out, "We're on the S.S. Katherine."

"Yes, I know."

"Elena, do you know how many people would kill to be on this boat?"

"Yes, I do."

"We're here. We're on it. We're going to England."

Elena propped herself up on her elbow and blinked gratefully to her friend. "I'm sorry for giving you such a hard time about going. I know how much it means to you. I should of..been more understanding."

Her friend nodded and peered to glance at her. "I'm going to see my family. After six years...I'm going to see them again."

Elena smiled, stood, and wandered toward Rebekah. She reached out to place a hand on the arm of her friend. "Yes, you are. And it will be wonderful."

"You'll stay with me, right? You won't abandon me in the middle of the ocean, will you?"

"Never."

* * *

There is, of course, a celebration that will take place in the Grand Ball Room. This event is specifically for VIP passengers and those that purchased the Grand Ball bundle that granted them immediate access to all parties, events, and gatherings that would take place in the room during the course of their cruise. For lower class passengers, an outdoor gathering on the dock. Both of these events are a celebratory tradition as to the start of new, safe, and successful voyage from New York to Venice while making port in places like Dover and Malaga. One of the longest and most terrific cruises, this year's is promised to be a grand one. For starters, aboard the ship is the one and only Mr. Ronald Pierce himself while he tackles the voyage on his most prized possession named after his most prized daughter, the S.S. Katherine. Along with Mr. Pierce is another family known for their exquisite taste in Italy's finest are the Salvatores. Mr. Giuseppe Salvatore, CEO of the most exclusive real estate business in Italy, is accompanied by his two sons and plans to reconcile with his good friend Mr. Pierce. Finally, Mr. Bill Forbes, head executive of Pierce Cruise Line Security, is rumored to show the S.S. Katherine the best top notch security system it's seen in years. With these three wealthy and business-royalty families aboard, the voyage is sure to be a huge success.

* * *

In the midst of taking a small sip of his champagne, Damon Salvatore was shoved roughly from behind. In a state of rage he whirled around, ready to knock someone's teeth out, only to find his little brother stupidly grinning at him. "Stefan!"

"You seemed to be daydreaming there, brother. I was merely trying to help you. Father advised I should remind you that we're attending the celebration this evening and it's crucial you show up."

Damon rolled his eyes, switching gaze to his reflection in the mirror and studying the dark circles beneath his eyes. When was the last time he got some sleep? One...two nights ago? Honestly he had lost track of how many hours he was sleeping. It felt like every night he was up with bad anxiety, stressing over the littlest things. What color suit to wear? How does he address this issue? And that issue? What will become of him in Italy? What happens when his father passes the torch? What if he screwed everything over accidentally? These were the type of questions he pondered in his mind and, for a minute there, he could have swore Stefan just waved a hand in front of his face. "You know I would not dream of missing it. I need to speak with very important people tonight. By not showing up I would bring shame on the business." The words came out dully and mockingly.

"You sound just like our father." Stefan noted, holding back a laugh. "And can you keep that excitement down?"

Damon placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and frowned deeply. "Be very lucky that this business does not go to you unless...say, a meteor strikes me dead. The likeliness of such a thing happening is zero to one."

"What if I throw you overboard?"

"Oh man, would you? It'd be doing me a huge favor."

"Now, now, Damon. I want to become a chef, not CEO of the Salvatore real estate. That's always been destined for you." The younger Salvatore winked, reaching up to pull the hand of his brother from his shoulder. "I'll bake you a cake if it makes you feel better."

"A chocolate one?" he asked skeptically.

Stefan nodded. "A big chocolate one with white frosting. And it will be so delicious that you can't eat it in fear of its deliciousness. And someday, when father's job is yours, you can advertise my gourmet restaurant for me."

"Of course." Damon rolled his eyes, quite offended by his brother's feminine taste in achievements. Why could his brother do something...bigger? Like running his own business. Creating the finest tasting wine in all of Italy. Or Rome. Or ...something. But a restaurant? Restaurant business sucked. Or so he heard, since he actually never was a part of one. Nope. The only business he'd grow to love was his own family's: the Salvatore Real Estate. Finest company in the world when searching for your ultimate dream house. Pricey, too, which is why the Salvatores have been rich for centuries. Like all cliche family businesses, the heir to the CEO throne was the first born child. Normally sons but nowadays it was common to find that some daughters took on the roles as well. That left him, the first born child, to receive the CEO torch. His father would be retiring in less than a year and then it will be his turn to keep the torch still burning. How hard could it be, right? It's not like he watched his father pull his hair out and pace back and forth until five in the morning each night  
only to leave work again at six. Sighing, he placed his glass on the nearby table of his room and glanced at his watch: 2:30 PM. "What time did you say the event started?"

"I didn't. We pull from the docks at three. I imagine around six, then?"

"You're going to be there."

"Yes." Stefan nodded weakly and turned, making way out of his brother's extravagant room. Before he exited he turned back towards his brother and added, "There's three and a half hours for you to burn. Don't spend it drinking." His eyes trailed to the champagne glass and then toward his older brother again. "Please."

Whatever, Stefan.

* * *

"Hello, madam, can I interest you in this red dress?"

Elena rolled her eyes at Rebekah. For the past hour she had been trying to convince her to go to sort of celebration. It was a stupid party to celebrate the stupid leaving of this wonderful, fabulous city. How could Elena want to celebrate that? She didn't, and she felt like telling Rebekah to shove every dress she pulled out right back up her ass. True, she was being a brat, but what else could she do? Rebekah just did not understand what leaving New York meant. The ship was still attached to the dock and already she felt nauseous. It was 2:50 PM and they would be leaving New York for three months in just ten short minutes.

"Elena, come on! You're being so unfair to me right now."

"How?" the brunette snapped. "Because I'm trying to enjoy a nice, peaceful moment to myself and you keep interrupting me with dresses I don't want to wear? I told you..I don't even want to go to the celebration, Rebekah." Lightly she added, "I'm sorry but why would I want to celebrate leaving my home?"

Rebekah threw the red material onto the bed and folded her arms, eyes narrowing dangerously. "You know what? Maybe you should just get off while you still can. Maybe I don't want you here after all. Not while you're being...being..."

"Being...what, Rebekah? Go ahead. Go on."

"A _bitch_."

Elena immediately drowned in her own guilt. She was being a bitch. She didn't want to leave New York. At all. But was it fair to Rebekah that she should abandon her? Probably not. After all, it was Rebekah who went through so much trouble to get admission tickets. It was Rebekah who would be reuniting with her family again after so many years. With tears pooling in her eyes, she lifted herself off of the bed and ran to the nearest exit she could find in the hallway. The door led her out onto some sort of terrace - the salty ocean air hitting her nostrils roughly. She leaned over the banister and closed her eyes, refusing to look at the beautiful New York buildings in front of her. It was all too much. She couldn't take leaving something so precious to her. It was like losing everything she had all over again. Except this time it was the only thing she had.

There was a small hand on her back and a whisper, "I'm sorry."

Her brown orbs reopened to find her friend staring at her, ashamed for what had happened between them. Relief washed over Elena at the thought that her friend wasn't purposely picking fights with her. Oh god, this was all her fault. Why couldn't she just be happy for Rebekah? Why did she have to be so selfish sometimes? She was supposed to be Elena Gilbert. Twenty year old Elena Gilbert. Journalist. Selfless. Proud. Courageous. She was anything but. She was cowardly, and selfish, and cruel, and insecure. She was nothing but a horrible nightmare of who she had been last year. "Me too," she whispered hoarsely, letting her own masochistic side take over and have her peek at New York.

"You really don't have to stay." Rebekah said honestly.

"No," Elena decided after a long time. "I do. I'm just so caught up in everything. New York is the spitting image of my parents. When I walk in the park I see the morning runs my mother and I used to have. When I see a hotdog stand I think of Jeremy - little Jeremy at his first job. And my dad...when I see the poor begging for money in the subway I think of my dad who used to throw a quarter at them. I can't even bring myself to look at homeless people anymore. I used to help them and give them money. Now I want nothing with them. How sick is that?" She swallowed thickly. "The truth is...I'm being selfish. I'm being sour and cruel to you when you don't deserve it."

"It seems like...like you're holding onto New York when New York is trying to let go." her friend whispered quietly, giving Elena's hand a gentle squeeze. "This will be good for you, Elena. Stop holding onto memories that only hurt you and create new ones that make you happy."

Elena nodded softly. "You're right." Two small tears fell over their edges and trailed down her cheeks. "I don't have anything for me in New York anymore. But you do. You have a family waiting for you in Dover. And that's where we're going."

Rebekah rested her head on the shoulder of her friend. The two of them made no move when a great whistle blew, roaring loudly throughout every small space on the ship. Shouts and cries were given from those standing below on the docks and from those leaning over the banisters waving goodbye. White napkins were thrown into the air and a grand applause erupted as the S.S. Katherine began to pull from the port. The entire ship was great pandemonium except for two girls that watched as New York City grew into nothing but a speck, a mere fragment of their imaginations. Unknown to the two of them, the S.S. Katherine would prove the most marvelous experience in their entire lives. Had they known it then, they wouldn't be standing with tears in their eyes and an ache in their hearts but instead wishing they could relive it all over again.

* * *

**Wow! I hope that was as interesting to read as it was for me to write. Please know that this is not a Titanic story. Any similarities between the two are unintentional but otherwise slightly inspired. I hope the jumping around didn't confuse anybody. Review & tell me what you think!**

_**Twitter: TMBsavage**_  
_**Tumblr: DrinkswithDamon**_


	2. Mistaken

_The S.S. Katherine is named after the beautiful daughter of Ronald Pierce._

* * *

It was nearly evening, the time that the celebration would take place. Rebekah and Elena had struggled with what each would wear, both trying to look their classiest on this expensive and luxurious ship. Rebekah had settled for a red dress that flowed evenly down her bodice. She completed the look with a pair of white, silk gloves that wrapped around her forearms and ended at her elbows. A beautiful pearl necklace hung loosely from her neck. Her blond hair, pulled back in an elegant bun, was dazzling against her overall color. Elena felt jealousy prickle her skin though surely she had no reason to be envious of her best friend. Settling for a thin, blue gown and silver gloves, she looked more than marvelous. Her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, the brunette locks framing her face with great excellence.

"Elena, we look beautiful." her friend whispered, clutching her white handbag and reaching for the elevator doors.

"Of course you look better." Elena replied modestly yet honestly.

"No, no! Nonsense! You look ravishing. I'm sure you'll capture the eyes of many men."

"Not my intention. I'm here for you and your family."

Rebekah could not help but laugh at her friend's total ignorance of the fact that she could pick up any man that she wanted. She had barely scouted the faces of the gentlemen aboard the ship, however, she imagined they were all more than eligible for her best friend. As they boarded the elevator, tension rose in the air. Elena could feel her friend gazing at her awkwardly. Hesitantly she turned and found Rebekah chewing on her lip nervously.

"What?"

"I need to tell you something." Rebekah said in a rush. "Oh, Elena. Promise me you won't get angry with me._ Promise_ me!"

"What are you talking about?" Elena hissed, feeling the nervousness creep up on her.

Her british friend shifted her weight, eyes toward the doors of the elevator. "We're not...I mean... we're not attending the event."

"We're not?"

"Not exactly. We are, but not the one you think we are. You see, we're attending the event in the Grand Ball Room."

Horrified, Elena gasped. "We're not VIP passengers,_ Rebekah_. We can't get in. I thought you said we were going on the deck where we belong."

"Elena," Rebekah scowled. "We do not _belong_ with the lower class. We are elegant, beautiful, and talented women. We're going to attend the event in the Grand Ball Room with all the more important people. You cannot chicken out on me."

Elena placed her hand against the elevator, suddenly feeling sick. She could not spend hours with people richer than her. People that were more intelligent and beautiful and stunning. Look at what she was wearing for God's sake. The passengers in the Grand Ball Room were wearing thousand dollar dresses with real diamonds and real fur coats. It was not like she and Rebekah were poor, no, surely not. They were merely middle class. They were average. They did not have correct manners or skills to attend such an event without making a fool of themselves. The most fanciful event Elena ever attended was a wedding and even then she felt out of place and awkward. The air around her could not fill her lungs quick enough. "I can't do that, Rebekah. We can't even get in!"

The elevator doors opened with a PING! and out stepped the blond pulling her brunette friend out with her. "Of course we can. Have you _heard_ of Caroline Forbes?"

"Caroline Forbes?" Elena swallowed thickly. "You mean the daughter of Bill Forbes?"

"Yes, _that_ Caroline Forbes. She's aboard the ship. And I so happen to know her."

Hand in the hand the girls walked through the long, beautiful hallways that would lead them out and into the lobby on the 4th floor of the ship. Located on the 4th floor was, in fact, the Grand Ball Room where tonight's events were going to go down. "And how do you know her?" Elena pressed warily, all the while her heart pounded in her chest.

"It doesn't matter. What does matter is the fact that she will be granting us access to the room. We must meet her around the main entrance but we musn't attempt to go in." Rebekah murmured, eyeing her friend. "Those were the orders."

"I don't know... I heard Bill Forbes' daughter was...not-so-nice, Rebekah. Are you sure she's not misleading us? We'll get..." her voice became a hushed whisper. "We'll be arrested if we're caught without VIP tickets."

Because of her friend's nonstop worrying Rebekah grew very tired of trying to explain how the evening would play out. Could her brunette friend not realize that this entire ship was a once in a lifetime sort of thing? Who cared if they weren't allowed access to a certain part of the ship. If they could get in, they would go in. Life was all about taking risks. If only Elena could see that. If only she wasn't so afraid of plunging into unknown water she might actually have fun on this trip. That was Rebekah's goal: to get Elena to loosen up. To smile. To laugh. To think that not taking the voyage to Dover would have been the biggest regret in her life. "You need to be a better risk taker. Caroline is very sweet. To me, at least. She'll be here. We must wait."

It was a relatively short wait as Caroline Forbes appeared not long after they did. Standing the lobby surrounded by people much richer and wiser, Elena felt the weight of the world on her shoulders. She felt as though she were being judged for the slightest of things. Perhaps like breathing too heavily. Her eyes rested on the stunning blond complete in a golden dress with long earrings and a white fur coat. Her eyes were a stunning blue that shone like the ocean's waves. She had never seen anyone so beautiful before. At last she realized that this walking goddess had to be Miss Caroline Forbes, spawn of the greatest national security system in the United States. She was greeted with tiny hellos and handshakes and head achknowledgements. It were as though she were a queen.

As Caroline came closer to the grand entrance, she noticed a familar face looking at her expectantly. "Ah, Rebekah!" she squealed in delight, taking the british woman's hands in hers and smiling idiotically. "I was hoping you'd show. Please, please, join me. And ah? Who's this?" The queen murmured, turning her blue orbs on Elena.

"Elena Gilbert." Elena introduced herself, extending a hand politely. Caroline shook it once, pleased by how silky Elena's glove was.

"Pleasure is mine. I assume you, too, are joining the party inside?"

"Yes." Elena blushed.

"Well, then. Best get a move on inside, shall we? Rebekah, dear, do you know where you'll be sitting?" As soon as Rebekah parted her red lips to answer Caroline's question, the beautiful blond was already speaking again. "Nonsense! Of course you do. You'll be sitting with me, of course! Come, let us inside." She turned her heel. Elena's hands began to shake as they approached a large man dressed in all black, his hands large and bulky. He was easily identified as a security guard - one that didn't look too thrilled with his job, as a matter of fact. As Caroline approached him he gave no second glance at her. However, as Rebekah stepped forward to follow her, the man thrust a hand out rather rudely to block her path. Stumbling backward Rebekah let out a large gasp.

"Invitation, please." he scowled.

Elena panicked. She turned her eyes to Caroline, still walking into the Grand Ball Room, and half expected the rich woman to keep on going and leave Elena and Rebekah to the fate of her father's security. Miraculously the blond spun around quickly and frowned, reaching forward to take Rebekah's hand in hers. "She's with me,_ obviously_. Can you not see that?"

The man looked between the girls and frowned deeply. "Miss Forbes, you know I cannot let anyone in without an invitation. Even if such a person is with you."

"Is that so?" Caroline challenged. She huffed once, looking toward Rebekah with a sour pout. "I'm sorry, Rebekah, darling, but my father's men are clearly dimwitted. They hardly care about me at all. You see, I was so excited to spend just one night with my good friends but it seems that I'm being denied as such. Off you go, then." Elena watched, mystified, as Caroline's eyes filled with water and threatened to spill down to her chin. What a little player, she thought. How easily Caroline could manipulate the situation.

The man in black rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright. Enjoy the celebration,_ ladies_. Miss Forbes, do not tell your father about this."

Caroline's somber attitude immediately disappeared and once again she was hightailing it back into the Grand Ball Room. Her golden dress flowed brilliantly behind her and easily began to draw the attention of the other guests that were already in celebration. Rebekah nodded her head politely to the man, stepping forward and making her way into dangerous territory. Elena swallowed a large knot in her throat and trailed behind the two blonds, quickly shuffling to get all of this over with. She was absolutely taken away by the beauty that was the Grand Ball Room. It was just like a palace and briefly made Elena feel as though she were a queen ready to take on a dance with her king. Oh, how the candles lit up the dark with their soft glow. How the floor was tiled and walls hand painted. The chandeliers that hung, their pure glass against the golden ceiling...

It was a dream.

The other guests were dressed for occasion (surprise, surprise). Just as Elena suspected, they wore heavy coats and dashing suits, and she watched in awe and pity for herself as they laughed and sipped their expensive champagne from their glass cups. They all looked so blissfully happy to be where they were. She slowly made her way to Rebekah's side, throwing her friend a small grin in the process. "Isn't this wonderful? Just wait until dinner is prepared. And then the dance! Oh, my, Elena. Who will you dance with? Pick one out now or else someone will take him from you!" Rebekah squealed.

Elena rolled her eyes. Dancing? Not exactly her forte. Especially not with rude, rich boys that expected such cliche things from women like meals and daily sex. Surely not. She much preferred the boys from New York. With their stylish clothing and charming ways...oh, how could you not love a boy that walked in the park? Or a boy that spent his time in the art museum? Much more Elena's taste, to be honest. Not like she ever really had a taste. In fact the only man she ever dated for longer than a few months was her high school boyfriend Tyler. She dumped him senior year for a chance to explore what she really wanted to do with her life. For some reason Tyler never seemed to be a part of the picture for her future. She never knew why, either. Only that they were not meant to be together. That was that. "I don't think so." she murmured.

"No, Elena. If you get asked to dance you must dance."

"Is that so?" She raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Yes. Yes that's so! Not dancing is suspicious. Besides, dancing is romantic. You could use a little romance."

Before Elena could comment on this she was being replaced by the blond queen they had entered with. Caroline touched both of the girls' elbows softly, smiling a toothy grin. "Would you two like to meet my father? He's here, of course. And very busy so you must do it now."

"We'd love to!" Rebekah announced. With a happy expression the two girls were guided across the room to a very boastful looking man. He was clearly very rich and, by the way he addressed them, very cautious.

"Father, these are my two friends. This is Rebekah and Elena. They've accompanied me to tonight's celebration. Isn't that lovely?"

Bill Forbes chuckled like a pot bellied pig and then grabbed the gloved hands of both Elena and Rebekah, kissing them each with a slobbery smooch. "Charmed. I am William Forbes however you may call me Bill Forbes, as most do."

"We know who you are." Elena smiled sweetly, taking her hand back. "Thank you for the security. Because of you we feel safe."

"Yes, yes. My company will always be here to protect you!" Bill Forbes laughed.

As another man approached Bill Forbes, Rebekah quickly took a step back. "We'll leave you be for now. Thank you, once again. Twas a pleasure." she purred, taking a hold of Caroline and fleeing the scene. Elena shuffled behind them, curious as to why her friend suddenly felt the need to take off.

"Rebekah?" Caroline and Elena questioned at once. Now on the opposite side of the room, Caroline's father distracted and out of hearing range, the three girls mingled in the barely lit corner. A soft music began to play. Elena guessed it was a piano piece only to recognize it as something else entirely. A more complex instrument. "Why did you drag me?" Caroline huffed.

"Because of him!" Rebekah swallowed thickly. Elena and Caroline followed her gaze across the room and toward the man that was now laughing alongside Caroline's father. "Do you know who that is?"

"Yes," Caroline whispered hesitantly at the same time Elena murmured, "No."

Two pairs of eyes fixed on Elena. "That's Matthew Donovan." Rebekah sighed.

Elena's eyes wandered back to the man. He was much younger than Bill Forbes. Complete with a beautiful dirty blond head of hair and striking blue eyes, she could see that he was quite the looker. He was dressed in rich attire which made her believe he had something going on with the Forbes company. Which could explain why Caroline knew him. "What about him?"

It was silent for a very long time before Rebekah whispered quietly, "I am in love with him."

Caroline's eyes bulged from her skull, her shocked expression almost leaving Rebekah ashamed of what she had just said. Elena felt like somebody knocked the wind out of her. Rebekah didn't do "love". She was never the type of person to fall head of heels for anybody. It was usually the other way around. Rebekah was a heart breaker. She left a trail of men everywhere she walked, each willing to lay down their lives for her. And so easily she walked away! It was a pity, really, for Elena knew that many of the men that desired her were good guys. Never did she attract anybody odd or unworthy of the british girl's love. However, Rebekah's heart solely belonged to her family. Elena had been told that many times. "I have no time for foolish American men." Rebekah would scoff at Elena's mention of a boyfriend. "My heart is back in Dover with my mum and my brothers and sisters." And Elena would sigh and give up, feeling like Rebekah was a loveless cause.

The news that Rebekah was claiming to be "in love" with someone, nonetheless an American, made her feel betrayed. What was so scandalous about loving Matthew Donovan that she felt the need to not inform her best friend? "Why do you say that?" Elena questioned.

"I met him when I first came to America. I can't explain to you what had happened, only that he treated me like a normal person and not a stupid foreigner. I fell for him. It's always been him since then." Rebekah explained rather quickly, eyes glued to Matthew's face.

"Dance with him, then." Caroline suggested simply. "He's single. I know because my father constantly tries to persuade me into being with him. He has no feelings for me, I'm sure of it." she assured the other blond. "I have no feelings for him, either."

"Oh no." Rebekah shook her head. "I musn't dance with him. He wouldn't remember me."

"All the more reason."

Just as Elena thought that Rebekah was going to actually walk across the room and ask him to dance, the sound of glass clicking against a knife brought her attention to another part of the Grand Ball Room. A man dressed in a white suit with his hair slicked back cleared his throat. "Dinner is served." he announced. "If the families would seat themselves accordingly, Mr. Pierce will be joining us soon." And then, like wildfire, the mass of rich passengers scuttled around and chose their seats, each praying they would be seated with the most elegant in the room. Elena looked toward Caroline who smiled widely. "Come, you two. We're seated with my father." Rebekah and Elena followed her warily, wondering who they might be sitting next to for the most of the night. It was great relief to Rebekah to find that Matthew Donovan was seated with his parents and his sister. As they found their table near the center of the room, Caroline seated herself next to her father. Next to Bill Forbes were the Bennetts, an exclusive family of strong women that were practically royalty in the fashion industry. Elena, herself, had taken an interest in the Bennett Boutique, a store located in the middle of Times Square. Unfortunately Elena never bought anything from their line of clothing because the prices were ridiculous. 250 dollars for a scarf? Elena couldn't get out of there quick enough. And now here she was sharing a table on the S.S. Katherine in the most elite Ball Room with them ready to eat something probably like steak and lobster. She suddenly felt nauseous.

Dinner was neither steak nor lobster but a strange Italian dish which Elena did not care for at all. Luckily the soup was rather basic, a perfect French onion, and she eagerly consumed it to its full extent. As dessert was placed on the tables, Rebekah leaned over to whisper in her friend's ear. "Ronald Pierce has arrived." Her eyes flickered around the room until they landed behind her on a man that was entering between the golden double doors of the Grand Ball Room. She felt nervous at the sight of him. Having seen him on many commercials and many news reports, he seemed almost unreal. A known celebrity, numerous passengers in the room stood and greeted him. They shook his hand eagerly and he politely thanked them for being on the ship. Elena could make out his Bulgarian accent from where she sat.

"Mr. Pierce is a fine man." Caroline leaned over to whisper at Rebekah. "But even finer when he's having affairs with married women."

"He does?" Elena wondered aloud.

"Why do you think my mother's not here tonight?"

At the blond's words, Elena's eyes rested on Mr. Bill Forbes. He was sitting stiffly in his chair, eyes averted from anywhere but the famous man that had walked into the room. Briefly she wondered how awful it must be to protect the man that destroyed your life. It was known that Mrs. Ronald Pierce had passed away due to a disease that she picked up in another country. Shortly after her death, Mr. Bill Forbes and Mrs. Elizabeth Forbes had gotten divorced. Elena never really cared about family tragedies in the media but now it was more than clear that Caroline's mother was anything but faithful to her husband. Much worse she was being unfaithful to the man that her husband was sworn to protect.

* * *

"The dessert is a tad bit too sweet, if you ask me."

"Nobody asked you."

Damon and Stefan Salvatore were seated on the far right, each looking dashing in their tuxedos. Damon was already more than annoyed at Mr. Pierce's late arrival which left him, Stefan, and his father to make small conversation in the corner of the Grand Ball Room. They ate their dinner in silence except for the constant voice of Stefan that felt the need to pick apart the course of tonight's meals. The main entre was too salty. The soup had too much onion. The dessert was too sweet. A wannabe chef and already he was ripping apart the competition. "I was just saying." Stefan sighed. "I would of did things a bit differently."

"Then perhaps you may walk up to Mr. Pierce and tell him the food on his cruise sucks. Come back and let me know how it all unfolds."

Stefan frowned deeply. "And why are you being so unhappy tonight?"

"I want to get this over with." the older Salvatore shrugged, reaching for a glass of champagne. When his brother said nothing, Damon's eyes studied him curiously. It was then he realized that his younger brother was watching someone from across the room and making seductive faces. He even caught him wink. "What are you doing?"

Stefan blinked quickly and then met his brother's eyes. "What?" he snapped.

Damon turned his head, scanning the crowd. "Who are you winking at?"

"Nobody."

"Come on. Seriously. Who were you winking at?"

"I said nobody." Stefan scowled. "Look, don't you need to talk to someone? Maybe you should go stand with father and discuss business things."

Damon turned back toward his brother. "Tell me who you were winking at and I will."

"I was not winking, brother. You're delusional."

He did wink. Damon was sure that he saw his baby brother actually wink at someone. It had not been just a wink, either, but a slow one. A suggestive one. It was a wink that Damon knew fairly well for he had used it, himself, many times before. He placed his glass back down on the table and leaned forward, a smile creeping on his face. "Don't tell me.. you're screwing someone."

"Damon!" Stefan frowned, looking down quickly and shaking his head.

"Oh man!" Damon let out a loud laugh, slapping a fist on the table. "Oh man! Come on, come on, tell me. You have to, now. Cat is out of the bag, little brother. Please, tell me. Who might be the lucky lady? Don't make me stand up and call her out. Wouldn't that be rather embarassing? Hm..here, I know. Let me pick her out. Ah, is that one there? With the faux coat? No? Okay...ah, there! The one in coral. Coral is a pretty color. Matches her eyes. No? Hmm."

"It's Caroline!" Stefan cried out hoarsely.

Damon's cheerful and joking self suddenly grew very serious. His eyes narrowed and his head snapped back toward his brother quickly. He stared at his little brother in agony and then, very slowly, whispered dangerously. "What did you say?"

Stefan swallowed thickly, looking up to meet the blue eyes of Damon. "Caroline."

"Caroline who?" and when Stefan did not respond, "Stefan? Caroline_ who_?"

"Forbes." he sighed, placing a hand over his eyes and rubbing. "Caroline Forbes."

"You're_ fucking_ Caroline_ Forbes_?"

Stefan peered from behind his hand and blinked slowly. He nodded in the slightest and then reached out to touch Damon's arm. "Brother, please-"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Damon blurt out. "Are you...you..._stupid_? Is that what it is? You're stupid. Now I get it. You're just stupid. Of all the idiotic plans, Stefan."

"I love her."

"You don't love her. You actually think she loves you? Holy Christ. You're amazing. Seriously amazing. Ha! Caroline Forbes. Where is she?" he craned his neck to spot her. "Oh, there she is. Hey, Caroline!" he waved once and then turned back toward his brother.

"Damon, stop it."

"Give her another wink, Stef. Go on. In fact, take her right now in front of everybody you little shit. Set her on the table and fuck her brains out and then when she dumps your ass and steals more of our money, call me and admit to me how much of a dumbass you are." Damon snarled pushing himself from the table, disgusted. Stefan sighed heavily, fists clenching.

Damon found himself wandering over to his father, Giuseppe, who was mingling happily with Ronald Pierce. The two were extremely close business partners and Ronald was all too happy to see Damon strut over. "Look it there! My future son in law."

Damon shrugged and then nodded his respect. "Hello, Ronald."

"Something wrong, Damon?" Giuseppe frowned, concerned.

The dark-haired Italian glanced once toward Ronald and then back toward his father. Seeing that this should be a conversation between father and son only, Ronald excused himself and found another passenger to speak with for the moment. Once they were alone, Damon fiddled with the blue ring on his finger. "Do you need me here? I wish to leave."

"Not yet. Another hour or so. I want everyone to see you dancing. You and Stefan have been sitting at that table all night. It's time to mingle."

Damon rolled his eyes. "I'd rather throw myself overboard than dance with anybody in this room, father."

"Lucky for you, Miss Katherine's here, and I'd rather go overboard than watch you dance with anyone but her."

* * *

Bill Forbes had gotten up shortly after finishing his dessert, and Elena watched him descend with curious eyes. She looked to Caroline and frowned. "Is your father okay?"

"What?" Caroline looked to Elena, seemingly coming back from a different planet. She looked to the empty seat next to her and shrugged. "Oh. Well, uh, yes. He's fine."

Rebekah snorted. "Can you make your obsession with that man any more obvious, dearest Caroline?"

"What man?"

"That one."

"Which one?"

"_That_ one. The handsome one sitting by himself. I've been watching you two exchange googly eyes all night." Rebekah sighed heavily. "Honestly why not go over and ask him to dance? Seeing as the dancing will begin any second, you might wish to find a partner."

"Oh, I cannot, I'm afraid. That's Stefan Salvatore. My father and his family do not get along very well, sorry to say." The beautiful blond pouted and stared at the napkin on her lap.

"Why does that matter?" Elena asked softly. "It's just a dance."

Then, amazingly, one of the Bennett women spoke. They had been so quiet that it was hard to not stare as they spoke. It was Bonnie, the youngest and daughter of Abigail Bennett (founder of the Bennett Boutique), who put in her two cents. "You clearly do not come from a family with wealth, Elena. I say this in the nicest way possible, as well. But when two families of great value clash it is not a pretty sight."

"I don't need to come from fame to understand that." Elena scowled.

"Of course you do. For you see it's known that the Forbes and the Salvatores never mingle. If they suddenly start to, everyone will think that the Salvatores are plotting against the Pierces. When, in fact, the Pierces and the Salvatores are more than business partners. It's all so very complicated but in the end nobody wins and I'm fairly certain that Caroline does not wish unhappiness on her father."

"No more than he already has, that is." Abigail Bennett coughed.

Elena sighed, feeling the weight of other people's drama on her shoulders. It was all so ridiculous. It was just a dance. What harm could be in that? Seeing the pain in Caroline's eyes as the words of the Bennett women sunk in, Elena felt horrid for even bringing it up in the first place. Actually it had been Rebekah who brought it up but nonetheless she still felt horrible. A boyish voice sounded behind her and she looked up, startled, to see two very beautiful blue orbs peer down at her.

"Pardon me." the man said shyly, then fixed his gaze upon Rebekah. "Rebekah."

Rebekah swallowed and met his eyes, a deep red blush creeping over her face. "Matthew." she whispered.

"It's...wonderful...to see you." he blurted out with a smile.

With a gentle nudge from Elena, Rebekah's ice broke. She shrugged indifferently. "Likewise."

After a long, awkward moment of silence Matthew offered his hand to the british blond. "Would you be so kind to accompany me to a dance? We can catch up." Immediately her hand found his and she stood, a smile creeping on her face. She could only manage to nod before he was already dragging her out onto the floor where they twirled around effortlessly.

"How nice." Caroline sighed sourly, watching Rebekah and Matthew find their possible happy ending. "At least she is happy."

"Speaking of Salvatores," Bonnie said suddenly. "Something wicked this way comes."

Elena did not have enough time to look behind her. Instead she caught sight of Caroline who's eyes widened at the person behind Elena. Her lips formed the perfect O as she watched the Salvatore tap a finger on Elena's shoulder. Slowly the brunette turned, coming face to face with the person so daring as to confront her. Her eyes came in contact with, hands down, the most handsome man she had ever seen before in her life. He had a wonderful, dark complexion and hair dark as night. His eyes mimicked the ocean on a sunny day and Elena swore she could sail their waves on a ship. That was how blue they were! His teeth, perfectly white and straight, were surrounded by two plump, red lips. She watched them as they formed the words, "Would you like to dance?" Unable to form a coherent sentence, she merely nodded. What was happening? God, what was air? What were words? What was anything? She placed a tiny hand in his and let him guide her out and onto the floor where they locked hands and he wrapped a bulky arm around her waist. She swallowed heavily, swaying to the music. Caroline's eyes burned holes into her back, as did the Bennetts'.

Before she knew it he was laughing softly. "Are you mute?"

This made her snap back to reality. "W-what? What! No," she blushed. "No, I'm not mute."

"Ah, so you are merely stunned by my attractiveness. How flattering."

Annoyance swelled in her chest. "That's..I just have a lot on my mind."

"By 'a lot' do you mean me?" he grinned.

She tried to take a step away from him only to fall right into his trap. His hand around hers grasped tightly and he pulled her closely. So close that she was practically against his chest with a head on his shoulder. She could inhale his expensive cologne and taste it on her tongue. Ah, how heavenly he smelled. "Did you ask me to dance just so you could get compliments?"

"I get complimented merely by breathing, my dear." he insisted.

Elena rolled her eyes, letting him twirl her to the beat of the music. "So why, then, did you ask me to dance? I was perfectly fine by myself."

"It is why I asked you. Because you were alone."

"I like being alone. So thank you for ruining that." she scoffed.

He raised an eyebrow. "What's your name?"

It was hell trying to decide whether or not to inform this stranger of her identity. In the end she decided that she would spare him one thing and one thing only: a name. "My name is Elena."

"Pleasure to meet you, Elena." He pulled back to grasp her hand and stretch out her arm. He leaned down to press a kiss to the back of her hand, eyes never leaving hers. She felt her heart nearly fail as those red lips brushed against her skin.

"You, too, um.." she trailed off, blanking as she realized she had no idea who this person was. Salvatore-something, right?

"Damon." he said lightly, eyebrows raising at the fact she was clueless to who he was.

"Ah, right. Damon...Salvatore. Salvatore, is it not?"

"It is." he assured her, then let his eyes wander back to the table she had been sitting at. "Pardon me intruding, but," he began, pulling her closely in his embrace. "How do you know Caroline Forbes?"

"Oh?" she murmured, turning her head to look at the blond sitting at the table by herself. "I don't, actually. She's a friend of a friend." It suddenly occurred to her that this was the brother of Stefan, who Bonnie had rudely informed her earlier of and that the consequences a Forbes and Salvatore together would create.

"Ah. I see. I'm sorry for asking." he blinked his baby blues at her innocently.

She let out a shaky breath. "Don't be."

They stayed there, wrapped in each other's embrace, and moved to the music. It had changed since they first stepped onto the dance floor however neither of them made no notion they wanted to stop dancing. Damon finally broke the silence. "I'm afraid that I've been rather rude to you, my dear."

She shrugged, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. "It's perfectly alright."

"You're a wonderful dance partner, Elena."

She pulled back, eyebrows pulling together. "Oh..thank you."

He nodded, then let go of her. "I'm sure you're busy, but would you mind stepping outside with me? I could use some fresh air. Also, I desire to leave. But would you accompany me?"

Elena looked over to Rebekah, who was caught up in Matthew Donovan. They danced together rather perfectly. She felt slightly jealous of her happy friend but, again, betrayed that her best friend would keep such a secret from her. Neither wanting to interrupt Rebekah and Matthew nor go back to Caroline, Elena found herself accepting Damon Salvatore's invitation. She took his hand and together they pushed through the crowd of people. The two of them wound up on the side of the ship, leaning over the railing similar to how Rebekah and she were earlier that day after watching New York fade into the distance. Instead of the large, familiar buildings of New York, Elena found herself staring at pure ocean. It was quiet outside except for the loud rustling of the party for the lower class passengers on the other side of the deck. Elena sighed heavily, closing her eyes, unaware of Damon watching her intently.

"Are you alright?" he wondered.

"Doesn't matter." she heard herself say.

"I suppose not."

His response was so genuine that she felt hurt that he could truly care less about her. Hey, what did she expect? He was barely anybody. No, no, wrong, Elena. He was somebody. He was Damon Salvatore. Of course she knew him; she knew Giuseppe Salvatore. They owned a huge real estate business and were top notch people. What was she even doing here with him? No, not just with him. Why was she here at all? There was that feeling again. Feeling like she needed to get away. To escape. Feeling like every part of her was left in New York. The Elena that was on the S.S. Katherine was merely a shell. A fake her that she had created to let everyone know she was still, unfortunately, alive. She reopened her eyes and looked down at the water, watching the ship break through each wave effortlessly. Damon leaned against the railing next to her, a drink in his hand. She couldn't remember where he got it from but what she did remember was that, when she had been dancing with him, she had smelled alcohol on his breath and concluded he was a heavy drinker. A part of her really didn't care although another part cared enormously.

"Have you ever wanted to kill yourself?" Elena whispered, eyes glossy.

"Yes." he replied earnestly.

After a long moment she asked warily, "How cold do you think that water is?"

"Cold."

"Cold enough to kill me?"

"Yeah."

She turned to fix her gaze on him, only to find that he wasn't looking at her at all. He was staring at the water, watching it, just as she was. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing, then. Perhaps she could take his hand and they could jump the ship together and she would die with this man she'd just met. Oh god, she thought. What am I thinking?

"Have you ever wanted to throw yourself overboard?" he asked.

"I don't go on ships often but I've been thinking about it all day." Without thinking she reached forward and took his glass. After a sip she realized it was some type of expensive, Italian wine.

"Why?"

"Because I hate this. I don't want to be here anymore."

"On the ship?" he wondered.

Elena shrugged. "On the ship. On the Earth."

"If you go overboard, I'll follow you." he said at last, watching her lick the wine off her lips.

"Why?"

"I don't want to die alone."

She was half expecting a cheesy line to come out of his mouth. Something that sprouted from a play. Something like "You jump, I jump." but it didn't come. Instead, he had thrown at her that he didn't want to die alone. He was willing to kill himself right beside her. But she'd have to jump first. There was a hint in his voice that he wasn't kidding. If she flung herself over the railing, she knew he would follow. "I have to go." she announced, thrusting the wine glass back into his hands and quickly fleeing the deck. She pushed her way through the doors and back into the Grand Ball Room where her feet took her to Rebekah.

Damon looked down at the wine in his glass and simply stared at it, deciding not to go after Elena. He didn't know what her problem was or what she was even thinking...hell, he didn't know what he was thinking. Twenty minutes ago he was calling his brother stupid and now he was going to commit suicide with a strange girl. He didn't know how long he stood there just watching the wine settle in the glass, but eventually the voice of his father broke through his own thoughts.

"What are you doing out here alone?" Giuseppe growled, taking in the sight of his son. Damon shrugged his shoulders and passed on the wine glass to his father.

"I wasn't alone." he said weakly, making way toward the double doors.

"Who were you with?"

Before Damon pushed his way back into the Grand Ball Room, he paused, one hand on the door. He looked over his shoulder and replied, "I was with Katherine."

* * *

**Dun dun dun! I am sooo tired. But it's been like..a week..since I updated, I think. First off: How AMAZING was Season 3's finale, guys! LOVED it! Damon and Elena. Argh, they'll be the death of me. I can't believe Elena's in transition now. And oh my god my emotions. Okay, breathe. Second: YES, Giuseppe thinks that Elena is Katherine! He can't really tell the difference between them. No, they are not twins. Imagine Nina Dobrev and Victoria Justice. They have similar facial features but if you look close enough or are familiar with the two of them it's easy to spot the differences, right? Imagine Nina as Elena and Katherine as Victoria. :) So now we know that Elena is really depressed. If you haven't figured out why, don't worry, there will be an explanation eventually.**

**How did you guys like Caroline? She's cute, right? There will be more Stefan/Caroline and Matt/Rebekah if you guys want it.**

**Unlike most stories, Giuseppe isn't really a bad man. He actually favors Damon over Stefan in this story. Also unlike most stories, Katherine really isn't evil. At least I don't plan on making her evil. But I don't know yet. She won't come in until later.**

**Please Review & Tell Me What You Think!**

_**Special thanks to two people:**_

**EverythingBasedOnMe, who inspires me greatly with her EPIC Delena stories. You are seriously wonderful and seeing your review made my heart stop.**

**Jaybunzy0, who is another AMAZING writer and also an amazing friend! I love you Jay! You are absolutely fabulous! :)**

**If you haven't read anything from these two girls I have no idea what you're doing with your life.**

_**Twitter: TMBsavage**_  
_**Tumblr: DrinkswithDamon**_


	3. Reflection

_Ms. Brenda Marina and Mr. Ronald Pierce launched the Pierce Cruise Line together._  
_There was a lot of controversy on who the line should be named after._  
_In the end, it was named after Ronald._

* * *

Elena's tanned body absorbed the sun greatly. Her long legs stretched out along the white chair, arms turned up by her sides. She turned her cheek to open her eyes and peer at Rebekah who was laying next to her and drowning her skin in some type of tanning lotion. She felt eternally grateful for her mother's dark skin for that she inherited and gave her the tanning advantage over her pale, British friend. Elena let out a small laugh as Rebekah globbed white lotion on her nose and forgot to rub it in, leaving her looking like a lifeguard.

"What?" Rebekah asked warily.

"Nothing." Elena smirked. "Just enjoying the sudden heat."

"Mmm," she murmured, leaning back and continuing to rub lotion into her arm. "It _is_ quite heavenly, isn't it? What did I tell you, Elena? Of course this trip will be worth while. After all, do you ever get this heat in New York?"

"Yes." Elena whispered, a sudden frown on her face. "I mean... kind of." Rebekah didn't say anything back, only kept rubbing the white lotion into her skin in hopes that she wouldn't burn. Elena hadn't mentioned anything to her about the celebratory event that was a mere two nights ago. She had been dancing contently with Matthew, pleased to be in his arms, when Elena came rushing over to her. She looked like such a mess that Rebekah could hardly control herself from wrapping her arms around her friend and demanding to know what was the matter. "Just stay with me." Elena had begged, eyes widened in fear. "Don't let me out of your sight."

"Okay." Rebekah whispered, taking Elena's hand and gripping it tightly. She turned to apologize to Matthew only to find that he was already across the room. Unfortunately, there had been no time to feel hurt or abandoned for Elena needed her more than Matthew did at that time. Elena never explained what had happened to her although Rebekah braced herself every minute, waiting for her to bring up why she had acted the way she did that night. To her disappointment, Elena's thoughts were sealed and locked.

Now they both lay out and exposed on the upper deck absorbing the sun over their heads. It had gone from a cool night to a blazing summer day. Perhaps this was some sort of sign they were getting closer to the other side of the world. Perhaps not, since it was only day two out of..what, twenty-eight? The mere thought that their trip was almost over was simply ridiculous. Rebekah yawned involuntarily and earned herself a sharp look from Elena.

"And why are you looking at me like that?"

"Seriously?" Elena breathed. "You have the nerve to yawn in front of me after keeping_ me_ up last night?"

"Ugh, it's not my fault I was seasick. Honestly Elena, you're _quite_ the downer." She murmured, reaching over to place a large pair of sunglasses over her face. "I hope you get sick."

Elena rolled her eyes. Me too, she thought. Actually, Elena felt more than sick. Her mind kept racing back to Damon Salvatore and how she had almost killed herself in front of him. Well, more like admitted to wanting to kill herself - something she had never done before. Not even to herself. She had thought about dying many, many times. Especially in the past two years. The real question was: would she ever actually do it? She had never thought so. But standing there on the edge of the ship, looking down at the water below, she had wondered what it felt like to have the water crash over her. To break the surface and know that there was no going back. The ship would neither stop nor turn back for her. She would be destined to die. Her heart raced at the thought. And Damon...oh, how his words played through her head. I don't want to die alone. I don't want to die alone. Like a chant it haunted her, letting her fear for the stranger she had come to expose herself to. He, too, wished an escape from pain. Because nobody ever wanted to die for no reason. They wanted an escape from some sort of pain in their life. Mental. Physical. Somewhere in between. And because nobody ever wanted to really take their life. It was the simple notion that taking their life was the only thing they had left.

She wondered if he was really drunk that night. Or had he remembered it all, clearly, almost as if he were sober? And if so: where was he now? Was he sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands thinking the same thoughts as she? Feeling the same feels as she?

She stood up quickly and reached for her towel, sweat droplets forming on the edge of temple. "I'm going back to the room." she announced. Rebekah nodded once, waving a hand in her friend's direction. Elena sighed and let her bare feet take her across the deck and back to the room where there she stripped out of her bathing suit and into more suitable clothing. Her cheeks felt burnt and, looking into the mirror, she decided that they were, in fact, burnt. Her hair had grown a shade or two lighter thanks to the sunlight. She looked, sorry to say, nothing like a New Yorker. Her appearance had altered completely from the city girl to the beach girl. The only similarity between city Elena and beach Elena were the dark circles beneath her eyes signaling lack of sleep and distress. Not like anyone would notice, though. Once she freshened herself up and allowed light aloe cream onto her sunburn, she gave a last glance into the mirror and exited the room.

It was time to write.

Although she was a skilled and mildly popular journalist she had taken to poetry writing, as well. Even diary entries were not unusual to catch her jotting down. The notebook she carried now was a lovely shade of coral; a personal notebook that contained the majority of her unspoken thoughts. What started out as a diary somehow turned into a place where she wrote ideas for actual full length novels. Of course, none of these ideas she wrote were ever actually turned into sprouting novels. Whatever she wrote failed to make it to the first of many pages. She never copied manuscripts and sent them over to be judged harshly. She was never thrown in the junk pile. Never did she sit on the edge of the sofa, biting her nails, and waiting for that one "yes" that would prove her destiny in life fulfilled. True, she was journalist. But a novelist was so much more. Knowing that many of the pages were filled with middle-of-the-night-nothings she decided to reflect on such scribbles. She once heard that night is the time of creativity; that the early hours of the morning were when humans were most likely to create masterpieces.

The first entry that caught her eye was dated September 2nd of the previous year at 3:17 A.M.

_"I opened the door and peered behind it, something blue catching my eye. No, not blue..red. Yes, yes, it was red. I reached down, quicker than I thought I could ever move, and felt the warmth of what was behind the door. It was liquid. Warm. Wet. In sudden realization I knew that whatever had been behind this door was not a human but some sort of animal. My eyes lifted from the floor and came face-to-face with a deranged looking little girl. With dark hair and dark eyes she coughed, sputtering blood all over my brand new T-shirt. She did not utter a name but the faint sound of "Why?" passed her lips. And then I could see that I was not looking through a door at all, but a mirror, and the twisted image in front of me was nothing other than my own reflection."_

Elena frowned deeply. Had she really written that? Her writing never took on such a somber, sadistic mood to it before. She could hardly recall writing such terrifying material. There was nothing else but that haunting, little paragraph. At the top the paragraph was given a title: "Metamorphosis". Ah, how original, Elena! At the wee hours of the morning and she was stealing from Franz Kafka! This, here, is why she could never be a novelist. Her ideas were merely reflections of how she saw herself through the eyes of others. It was then she realized that she, like Kafka's Gregor Samsa, had transformed herself into some kind of demonic creature. Unlike Gregor, she did not morph into an insect but rather into something completely unlike anything else before. Rereading the paragraph again, Elena decided that perhaps turning into an insect would have been better than the deranged thing she had seen in the mirror. It was an odd thing, really, for the date of the entry was not anywhere near a time where tragic accidents could have influenced her to become so dark. It must of been a spur-of-the-moment thing; the result of watching a horror movie, maybe.

Feeling rather dark and twisted she closed her eyes and leaned against the side of the ship. She was in something like a hallway, only the sounds of the waves could be heard - but not seen - and the smell of somebody's lunch filled her nostrils. She guessed it was shrimp dipped in tartar. Or freshly cut salmon, grilled, and now the waiter was squeezing fresh lemon over it. Her stomach grumbled rather abruptly but with the burning, mental image of the mirror girl in her brain, eating did not seem like a good idea.

God...what was happening to her? She felt completely lost in her own mind, feeling as though she imagined everything she had just read. Maybe the passage didn't even exist. Maybe she was delusional, and the wine she had tasted at the Grand Ball had a drug in it. Maybe Damon Salvatore drugged her into thinking about suicide when, in fact, she was more than happy to be living.

Maybe _she_ was not real and the girl that had been in the reflection _was._

Hands shaking she made way toward the sound of the waves and found herself on the side of the deck. The bright sun temporarily blinded her before, in an act of rage, she thrust the little book into the air and watched, frozen, as the sea swallowed it whole. The coral cover was gone completely, down, down, down, weighed by the thick and metal binding...

Aftermath: shock, then sobs, and then suffocation.

What had she done? So many thoughts were in the little book. So many words and letters and notes and possible novel ideas. She could have handed that little book to her editors and said, "Here! Work with this!" and together they could have created a best seller. She was a god damn journalist in the writing industry and she just threw everything she dreamed about over the edge of the S.S. Katherine and watched whatever sea take it forever. Damp with tears and feeling clammy from sweating, she quickly turned her heel only to stop again. "Elena." The person breathed, the sound of the voice like sweet music to Elena's ears. It was then that she knew she could have never fathomed such a face nor a voice and that, of course, he was as real as he was two nights ago and that she very much felt like a caged animal.

She looked away, wiping her tears away with her arm. Such a mess I am, she thought. Feeling like a caged animal and probably looking like one, too.

"I don't think so," he said suddenly.

"What?" Elena questioned, puzzled.

He cleared his throat. "I.. You said you looked like a caged animal. I think you look fine."

She felt stunned. She actually said such words out loud?_ Christ,_ she was losing it. Everything was spiraling. Her sanity. Her caring. Her life. She decided to fix her eyes and take in what he was wearing: a crisp, white tee and khaki shorts complete with black sandals and some sort of expensive, Italian - maybe French - hat. She rolled his eyes at how...how..._rich_ and yet _normal_ he could be at the_ very same time_. Damon, who had been quite unsure of whether or not she was alright, had chosen to ignore her little scrutiny. Instead he coughed awkwardly and wondered, "Why did you just pollute our ocean?"

She rolled her eyes. "We're going down, anyway. The Earth is planet of pollution that is slowly killing us."

"Interesting reasoning." he murmured. "By the way, Miss Elena, I must_ insist_ we stop meeting like this."

"If you recall, Mr._ Salvatore_, we met in the Grand Ball Room."

"I stand corrected." He flashed a wide grin and she felt like smacking it off his face. How could he be so happy when, two nights ago, they had almost jumped ship together? And then, as if the thought wasn't enough, he had the balls to mention, "You seem less suicidal tonight."

The hair on the back of her neck stood erect as she hissed, "Do you not have business to attend to, Mr-heir-to-the-Salvatore-real-estate?"

He frowned sincerely. "I see you've brushed up on your facts, Miss-didn't-know-my-name-two-nights-ago."

Elena blushed a deep crimson, somewhat feeling like nothing she could say would bring him down. He was witty and intelligent and came with quick reflexes. "I may have consolled a friend or two." was what she was left with.

"Which friend? Caroline_ Forbes_?" he spat, casually flicking something dark from his white tee.

"Why the obsession with her?" Elena demanded, turning to face him. She did not dare to look into his eyes. "If you fancy her, why not make your move before someone else does?"

"I would not _dream_ of choking down a yesterday's breakfast." he scoffed, running his hands along the sides of his head. Checking, probably, to make sure there was not a hair out of place. There wasn't.

The impact of realization was rough, though manageable, and she could not find it within to hide her disgust. Of course. _Of course_ the blond queen would hook up with this charming, dark prince. Walking day meets stalking night as a Salvatore and Forbes clash in what could only be the end of Elena and Damon's weird, mutual acknowledgement of each other's existence. "How lovely it is that she should bounce from one brother to the next as if you were two coins from her daddy's pocket." She laughed bitterly, making her way across the dock and allowing herself to forget the man behind her entirely.

A pest he was, following her closely into an unknown hallway and leaving the sunlight and sound of waves. "And what does that mean, Elena?"

"It _means_ stay_ away_ from me."

"I've done nothing to you and yet you lied to me-"

"_Lie_ to you!" she exclaimed, spinning around to look him directly in the face. "Lie to you? I am not a liar! What did I lie about?"

"Why, being a friend of Caroline Forbes, of course." he scoffed rather smugly, blue eyes melting her chocolate ones. "You told me she was merely a friend of a friend. Yet you have confessed two things that indicate you know her: One, of her and my brother's disgusting sneaking about. Two, that she takes from her father's pocket."

Elena rolled her eyes. "Yes because it is so hard to tell that Caroline Forbes lives off of her father's money! Why should she not? She is a year or so older than I without a job or penny to her name other than the one she carries thanks to her father. And with Stefan...that was a _guess_! I should guess by the way they exchanged such looks two nights ago. I can tell when a woman is in love."

Damon leaned forward to grab the hand that had been folded across her chest in annoyance. He weighed it in the palm of his hand and then whispered, "Love is not real, darling. Only lust, greed, and pity."

Elena's gaze shifted to their connected hands. She was startled that she found herself not wanting to pull away from the ignorant man in front of her that had dared to call her a liar. Elena Gilbert did not lie. She was a journalist. She _feasted_ on the truth for heaven's sake! Using the hand he had captured, she pulled herself toward him. With their faces barely inches away she stared into his eyes and whispered, "Love is real. Those that believe otherwise have yet to experience it." Just as she felt some sort of strange feeling, as if a ghost had passed or a bucket of cold water had been dumped, she tugged her hand away swiftly and began down the hall again. Pleased to hear silence behind her, she let out an unsteady breath and held the hand he had been grasping tightly against her chest. The number 201C was above the next door she headed into. Taking its interior she was pleased to find that some part of her was able to get her back to her room without "accidentally" falling over the edge of the ship or "tragically" being strangled by rope that was often found on the decks, open and untouched. She burst into the bathroom, pleased to see that Rebekah was not back from tanning, and heaved herself over the toilet. Staring up at her was her own reflection among the water and she purged roughly to get rid of it. Once the tears streamed down her face, the room smelled of vomit, and her head pounded, she flushed the toilet and watched as the swirling pink mass of what could only be described as shrimp or grilled salmon began to disappear.

* * *

Caroline eagerly bit off the tip of her breadstick, grinning mischievously at her lover across the room. He was batting his lashes at her and making fun of the way she held onto the breadstick. Blushing deeply, Caroline tucked a stray, blond lock behind her ear and shook her head. She turned to Rebekah and sighed loudly. The british blond smiled sweetly and murmured, "Be wise, Juliet."

Caroline simply rolled her eyes and then, noticing Elena's plate was rather full, decided to become a pest. "E-le-na!" She sang, a mother scolding her child. "Do you not like dinner?"

"Hm?" Elena sighed, looking up and then, realizing Caroline was somewhat irritated, looked back at down at her dish. "Oh. I'm not very hungry."

"Yes, I imagine not. After all, throwing books into the ocean can make you lose your appetite fairly quickly." She brought a glass of champagne to her lips, a naughty smile on her lips. After a puzzled look from Elena she explained, "Stefan told me."

Instead of piecing together the fact that Damon ran off and told his brother about her - why was he even talking about her anyway? - she quickly decided to let Rebekah know what she thought of the Salvatores. "You know, Caroline. I think you should stay away from Stefan. The Salvatores seem like huge assholes." Rebekah, who was squeezed between the two girls, started choking on her drink. Caroline's eyes widened and her jaw tightened dangerously.

"Nobody_ cares_ what you think, _Elena_."

Elena did not bat a lash. "I know."

Rebekah twisted her head toward Elena. "God, what's _wrong_ with you, Elena? I thought we were past this whole...S.S. Katherine...thing. Do you miss New York? Is that what this is about? You've been a nuisance on everyone since the event."

Under both of the girls' heavy gazes, Elena shrank into her seat. She groaned and then covered her eyes, head in her hands pitifully. They were absolutely right. She was a nuisance. That's all she was, right? A nuisance. A disgusting nuisance. "I'm sorry I'm making everyone miserable but...god, I don't know what I'm saying."

"You better get a clue." Caroline snapped, throwing down her breadstick in a hissy rage.

Rebekah reached over to put a hand on Elena's back. She rubbed gentle, soothing circles into the girl's muscles in hopes that it would calm her. "We don't mean to be rude. At least, I don't. I just want you to tell me what's wrong." Her voice was so sympathetic that Elena felt herself being looked down upon. She felt like the helpless orphan girl she had become just a mere two years ago.

Thick with sorrow she replied, "That's the problem. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Do you miss New York? Is that it?"

"No." she shifted uncomfortably. Her eyes peered across the room to where Stefan Salvatore was seated. Beside him was his brother (back to her, luckily) and his father, Giuseppe. Stefan's eyes met hers and he blinked innocently. Something passed between them at that moment. Elena could almost feel his thoughts pushing their way inside of her brain. There was _Thank you_ and an_ I'm sorry_. Why was Stefan thanking her? More importantly, what was he sorry for? Just as Damon's head snapped up and Stefan switched his gaze to his brother, Elena looked away. She rested her eyes on Rebekah and then softly whispered, "I threw my journal into the ocean."

Rebekah was silent for a very long time, measuring how serious her friend was. By the looks of it Elena was very serious - more than serious, in fact. "Why?" she finally, warily, wondered.

The brunette looked down, ashamed. "I think I'm going crazy." Just as she murmured these words Caroline stood from her seat and exited the dining room. It was clear that nobody was going to chase her or even pay attention to her. However, there was three people that failed to ignore the fact that, only three minutes later, Stefan exited in the same direction. Elena was one of these three people.

"How did Stefan know you threw your book?"

"Because his brother saw me do it. And I guess he passed the word along. Which, by the way, I have no idea why. But between you and me, I think something bad is going to happen between Caroline and Stefan." Elena whispered, eyes on the door that both the Salvatore and Forbes children had passed through.

"Why?" Rebekah wondered, gaze following Elena's.

"I think something happened between Damon and Caroline. I only encountered Damon twice and already he won't stop talking about her. And the nerve of him to tell me that they were once a _thing_. Can you believe that?"

"So... Caroline's a slut." Rebekah declared. "That's nice. Does he still like her?"

"I don't know." she admitted, picking up her fork absentmindedly. "I don't even know him."

"I saw you dancing but never thought to ask you what happened...which, oh my gosh, _Elena_. You deserve me an explanation. What the hell _happened_ that night? I'm done being modest. Tell me. _Now_." the british blond suddenly realized, pulling her chair closer to her friend's. Elena rolled her eyes but informed her friend of everything that had happened. Except, maybe, the part where they wanted to throw themselves off of the edge of the ship. For some reason Rebekah gave off the aura that she never went through any emotional trauma. True that the blond had been isolated from her family for years, but it would never compare to the feeling of wanting to kill yourself. Elena swallowed thickly, making up some lie about her attraction to Damon (which was not entirely a lie, right? He was attractive.) and feeding it to her friend, thinking that was a good reason for acting like a lunatic that night.

"Look, I know Caroline can be quite awful sometimes-"

"Sometimes?"

"Fine, _most_ of the time, but she's still a good friend. I owe her. You might want to look into talking more with Damon. I don't want her to get hurt. She really, really likes Stefan. It's hard to believe, but she does." And then, tentatively, she added, "I don't think she ever had a thing with Damon, either. I think he made it up."

"It did not seem like it. Besides, Damon seems like...an ass. He's charming, but clearly the typical rich man."

"There's a lot of tension with the Salvatores and the Forbes, Elena. It goes deeper than just some brotherly relationship fighting-over-the-same-girl sort of thing. I _think_, but I can't be sure, it has something to do with their fathers. But that's just me. I don't know," Rebekah shook her head, picking up a breadstick and munching on it tentatively. "I even feel it has something to do with Ronald Pierce."

Instinctively, Elena found Mr. Pierce on the other side of the dining room. He was still sporting a white suit against a blue tie and he laughed too loudly, making her wonder who he was trying to impress. Was that true, then? From what she had gained, the Salvatore family and the Pierce family were close. Business partners. Family friends. Neither of those families got along with the Forbes. Ronald Pierce had an affair with Caroline's mother. But why would that rain down on their children? There was more to the story. She was sure of it. But did she want to know more? She could barely solve herself let alone unveil a family mystery. Yet, almost by fate, her eyes wandered to the Caroline Forbes that walked back into the dining room: grinning widely, devilish hair, and a smug Salvatore behind her.

Across the room, Damon Salvatore was looking toward his brother just as she had been. It was only a moment before his back was facing her again but not before she could identify the single emotion scrawled across his gorgeous features: _fear._

* * *

**PLEASE Review & Tell Me What You're Thinking!**

**This story might be taking on a darker theme. Nothing too dark but Elena's going to become more and more depressed and we're going to see a side of her that, perhaps, nobody can fix...**

**Things may seem confusing now but it'll all come together in the end. :)**

_**Twitter: TMBsavage**_  
_**Tumblr: DrinkswithDamon (TVD blog) & TaylorBala (personal blog)**_


	4. Shattered

_Just a year after the line began to pick up attention, Ms. Brenda Marina became Mrs. Ronald Pierce._  
_Three months after that, the newlywed couple gave birth to a daughter._

* * *

As dinner came to a close, Elena found herself torn by the thought of approaching Damon Salvatore. Rebekah, who was sticking to her suggestion that she team up with him, did not understand to the full extent of why things between them could be awkward and, well, potentially dangerous. Damon did not have a very appealing attitude. In fact the only things that could be classified as appealing were his stunning good looks and charming personality. She felt weighed down by the idea that the man across the room and she could be _friends_. The concept of developing a friendship with him would always be questioned for she would always recall the night both of them came close to offing themselves. Despite her instinct to stay away from him, her curiosity wanted the best of her. She wanted to know why this rich, good-looking man would not want to die alone.

How could a man like Damon Salvatore wish to die in the first place?

Feeling sick, she turned to Rebekah and sighed. The two of them had been awkwardly taking part in a conversation with Caroline and a man called Alaric. He was something else entirely, that Alaric, for Elena had not failed to notice that he eyed her up with strange desire. He would occasionally part his lips, eyes locked to hers, ready to speak...only to close them and turn his head in shame. Elena Gilbert had not seen this man from eve and the possibility of him having something to say to her other than "Hello." was almost zero. But to her astonishment he _did_ open his mouth and this time words emerged from his lips. As soon as they did, Elena wanted to shove them back down his throat. He had coughed once and then uttered directly to her, "Miss Katherine?"

"Pardon me?" she blinked, throwing Caroline a puzzled glance. "Er, no.."

"Right." Alaric frowned. "Sorry."

"Yes!" Caroline threw her head back and laughed. "She _does_ look like her, doesn't she?"

"Yes, yes, certainly. A common mistake, then?" the scruffy man asked her sincerely.

Elena shook her head. "I...I do not know what you are talking about."

Caroline huffed. "Elena, you look similar to young lady Katherine. Alaric here thought you were her which explains why he is so smitten. His heart has been set on the brunette beauty for years now. Am I wrong, Ric?"

Alaric ran a large, plump hand through his dirty blond hair. "You are delusional. If my obsession was anything but out of the ordinary, I would have been able to tell differences between this girl and Katherine."

"Oh, of course. I've known Katherine for years, have you forgotten already? Even I took a double glance at Elena when we met! It is fairly easy to mistake the two! I do believe, Elena, that you have lighter skin. She _is_ bulgarian, after all. Your eyes are identical although yours possess a different golden tint to them than Katherine's."

"And...how do you know so much about her? Who is she?" In saying these words, Elena earned herself a disgusted look by the three people standing before her. It was then that she realized her question was very stupid and absurd. To not know who this Katherine woman was surely was a mistake; Elena lowered her gaze and bit her lip, the sick feeling of awkwardness swelling in her belly.

Rebekah nudged her friend with her elbow and explained, "Katherine Pierce. Also known as the daughter of Ronald Pierce."

"For whom the ship is named after." Alaric nodded.

"And really quite the biggest bitch you'll ever meet." Caroline held up a drink with some sort of strange, golden liquid inside of it. The blond pressed her lips to the drink and then swallowed eagerly. Elena could not imagine the drink would be alcoholic. Caroline would not strive to become a day drunk, would she?

"She's lying." Alaric rolled his eyes. "Katherine is very much a sweetheart. Except she is her father's most prized possession."

"Prized?" Elena questioned.

"Really, Elena, are you any journalist at all?" Caroline rolled her eyes. "A not very good one to say the least if you are not familiar with people such as Katherine Pierce." Before the insult could make impact, another voice spoke from behind her. The smooth, husky voice was anything but unfamiliar to Elena. Her throat began to close and she swallowed repeatedly feeling as though they was not enough air to satisfy her lungs. Her palms grew sweaty as she turned to face the dark-haired Italian man that approached with dignity. "Katherine Pierce," he had sighed rather lovingly. "Daddy's little girl. Virgin. Expensive. Elegant._ Prized_." he drew out the last word and let his eyes lock onto Elena's. She blushed and turned her gaze to Rebekah.

"Hello, Damon." Alaric extended a friendly hand and, to Elena's amusement, gripped the hand of the Salvatore and shook it twice. How could someone so scruffy and untidy be a friend of Damon Salvatore - the clean cut business man, ready to inherit the entire Salvatore real estate?

"Alaric Saltzman." he nodded in return. Ah, so _Saltzman_ was his last name. Alaric Saltzman. Now where had Elena heard that name before? As she picked at her brain, fumbling for an almost nonexistent memory, he was already speaking again. "I haven't the chance to speak with you since we left the docks. Where are you heading?"

"I'm not quite positive yet." Alaric chuckled twice. "I've had the opportunity to speak with Ronald. He tells me your father and he are planning a wedding?"

Damon's eyes seemed to turn cold at the mention of such words. He glanced sideways at Elena. "Good to see you, Miss Elena. I almost _didn't_ see you there."

"I would say the same to you, Mr. Salvatore, but your ego is so huge I could just hardly miss it." She retorted. Rebekah and Alaric's eyes opened widely, astounded at the tone the brunette had used toward this important man, and it was Caroline who had to contain her laughter.

"Still as charming as ever, I see." He reached behind him to grab two glasses off of one of the passing waiters. Casually offering it to Elena, he murmured, "Drink?"

"I don't drink."

"Right." He coughed, a gleam of taunting in his eyes. Elena knew where his thoughts were exactly. He was undoubtedly thinking about her leaning against the side of the ship, wine in hand, ready to throw herself overboard. However, it was not alcohol that had made her want to kill herself. She knew it had not been alcohol that had made him so eager to go, either.

"Since Elena has no right to introduce me.." Rebekah began rather awkwardly, nodding toward Damon. "Mr. Salvatore. My name is Rebekah Mikaelson."

"Charmed," he threw her a dazzling look and, after passing the unwanted drink to Alaric, reached forward to brush his lips against the british girl's hand. Elena watched the blush creep onto her friend's cheeks. In annoyance, she searched the room. _Where was Matthew Donovan when you needed him?_ and_ Do not feel special, he does that to everyone._ were the thoughts that filled her head in that moment. "What a beautiful English accent you have, m'dear. Heading toward Dover, I suspect?"

"Indeed!" Rebekah giggled. "And you, where?"

"Italy, of course." Damon laughed out loud. "Where else would the Salvatore family be off to?"

"Oh, you never know. But Italy!_ Quanto è grande!_"

Elena could only stand there in silence as he and her best friend exchanged cute laughter and spoke strange Italian words that Elena could never understand. It was there, then, that she felt the jealousy prick her skin. If anyone was allowed to be friends with that asshole it was her, not Rebekah. There was some kind of strange pull that he had on her. As he stood next to her, she often felt some sort of gravity pull her into him. It was though he was some sort of black hole ready to swallow her whole. She could not help but be intoxicated by his presence. She tried unsuccessfully to look away, to distract herself, to seem uninterested, but it simply would not do. She was, without a doubt, drawn to him almost as if he were a well-dressed drug she had inhaled for the first time. Eventually she earned herself a quirky look from her british friend and so, being pulled to the side, she listened intently as Rebekah whispered into her ear. "Befriend him."

"How? I cannot stand him."

"That does not matter! Think of what we must know and how we must protect Caroline, Elena." Rebekah pleaded. "He is rather charming. Too charming. He must know something."

Elena wanted to cry. How could she be the one to befriend Damon Salvatore? She was middle-class and boring and unattractive with weird quirks and a strange voice and she was neither charming nor flirtatious and even though she did feel something with Damon, it was just as easy to feel completely overpowered by him. She felt helpless. As she guided herself back to Damon Salvatore who had been sipping champagne for a good twenty minutes, she dared herself to touch his arm. "Pardon me, Mr. Salvatore, would you like to take a stroll with me?"

"How nice of you to ask." he smiled. "And..unordinary. I thought, perhaps, my presence bothered you."

"Oh, it does." she winked. "However you will find that I must speak to you about something rather important." As the words did nothing to jump start him, she leaned closely and whispered, "Business."

He nodded once, wondering what little Elena Gilbert meant by 'business'. Did she mean the real estate? Or did she mean when they almost jumped ship? Either way he followed her out into the vacant hallway and began walking toward the elevators. Elena felt uneasy with how close he was to her and how alone they were. Her...feelings...toward him were rather all over the place. One minute she felt totally blind sided by him, totally caught up in how attractive and incredible he could seem. The other half wanted to very much slap him across the face for how smug and rude he sometimes was. Ah, how would this ever work? And to add onto her mixed emotions there was the simple, gruesome fact that he was willing to die with her. For whatever reason that was.

"Business?" he cocked an eyebrow, still trailing her as the two of them made way into another room. To Damon this was a room he knew well. It was a room where he and his father had mingled in many times before. A private room, so to say. He was positive there was a kitchen door around somewhere that led to a wine cabinet filled with the most expensive and delicious dessert alcohol. He licked his lips. Elena's body had taken on a new color now under the average lighting and out of the brightly lit dinner room. She was dark skinned and he could not help but comment, "Nice tan."

"Business." she agreed, turning to face him and ignoring his stupid comment on her skin color. She watched his face grow very serious, all hint of any amusement gone from his gaze.

"What kind of business, exactly?"

"I...I do not know, exactly." she sighed, reaching up to fix a stray hair in her face. "Something bad is happening between Caroline and Stefan."

Then, clear as day, disgust rolled across his features and he let out a bitter laugh. "May I remind you, Elena, that I am set to inherit a very wealthy and exclusive family business? Really, how stupid do you think I could be - being raised by the Giuseppe Salvatore _himself_?"

Shocked, she replied, "Excuse me?"

"It means I am a very intelligent man. I see what you are trying to do to me. Fish some information out for the Forbes', is that so? You will not gain anything from me so I suggest you do not add fuel to the fire in which you have no matter in creating." His fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight with tension. She could feel the waves of discomfort and mistrust radiating off of him and, in fear, she tried to dodge them.

"I know where my duties lay and that is with my friends, Damon Salvatore."

"Ah, you see! So you are friends with the bitter Caroline Forbes. I knew that, too!"

A scowl escaped her lips and she could not help but take two steps forward and push on his chest roughly. Beneath his expensive clothes was a hard, muscular chest that Elena did not find particularly pleasing. It meant he took care of himself and there was no chance of a physical alteration between them. She was, once again, proving helpless beneath him. Still, her irritation outweighed any disadvantages she possessed and she spat, "Rebekah is my_ best_ friend. Do you think I give a damn about Caroline_ Forbes_? I don't. But she is in love with Stefan and she is a friend of Rebekah's. Therefore I_ owe_ her, you _stupid_ bastard! I owe it to her to protect her from ...from...whatever you're afraid of! From whatever scares you about Stefan and Caroline being together!"

Damon stared down at the angry kitten beneath him that had just mustered up the courage to outright call him out. He, the master of comebacks, was rendered speechless. Was that it, then? She thought he was frightened of what was going on between his baby brother and that wench? Ha! How ridiculous such a thought could be! Staring into those brown, chocolate orbs, he felt truth in her words. He was not exactly frightened, but something of that sort. His lips pressed in a tight line and he uttered, "Caroline is not in love with anybody."

Elena's eyes began to tear up, then. This was a result not from sorrow but of pure irritation she felt toward the man stupidly standing in front of her. He was so oblivious to everything! "Fine!" she snapped. "If you believe that, so be it! I cannot change your mind. But know this,_ Mr._ Salvatore, your little brother is in love with Caroline, too."

He was defenseless now against her, remembering as Stefan confessed his love for that blond Forbes. He knew that when Stefan loved, he loved for as long as he could. Even when that love was not returned. Even when it was. Damon reached down to grab the hand Elena had been rudely poking him in the chest with and threw it back down to her side. He fixed his shirt and then, casually, reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He took a long, steady breath and then finally muttered, "I need a drink."

When she said nothing, Damon reopened his eyes and snarled. "I _said_ I needed a_ drink_."

Elena blinked, dumbfounded, and then crossed her arms. She took two steps away from him and raised an eyebrow. "What, do you expect me to get it for you?" At his no reply, she could not help but laugh. "Oh, Christ! You're impossible. What the hell do I look like, you're fucking slave?"

He winced at her language. "Not very lady-like of you to use that word."

"Fuck, fuck,_ FUCK_." Elena started singing, noticing how each time her lips formed the word he flinched with distaste.

"You child!" Damon shouted, throwing his hands in the air and walking toward a large, green door toward the back corner of the large room. He prayed the door was entry to a kitchen filled with that wine. He just wanted to drown himself in it. Hands shaking he revealed the bright, white kitchen that was lined with a table of expensive wine glasses. On the wall were the rows upon rows of shelves which held the unique and different wine bottles. Elena raced after him, watching the man pour himself a drink.

"That's it, drown your sorrows." she retorted. "That is definitely going to make you easier to talk to."

Hunched over the rows of glasses, his entire back tensed. "Leave, Elena."

"No." she snapped.

"Leave. _Now_."

"_No_."

So suddenly that Elena was not quite sure how it happened, the glasses were all breaking and shards of glass were slicing deeply into the undersides of her exposed arms. She covered her face, gasping for air. When she opened her eyes, Damon was standing there, eyes full of deep rage and chest heaving in an unhealthy way. She wanted to scream at him, then. To release all the anger and hurt that she had ever felt, with or without him, but all she could do was stare at him. He looked so lost, so in pain, so confused, she did not have it in her heart to make this any more difficult than it already was. His face relaxed, the anger fading away quickly, and Elena watched as the shock of what had happened settled into his brain. He brought an unsteady hand to his face and squeezed his eyes. Quick, sharp pain jolted through her arms and she brought them to her face to study the damage. Red liquid oozed from where the pieces of wine glass were stuck in her skin and from where others like them had sliced. While she had never truthfully been frightened of blood, she had to admit the pain felt...

Good.

It actually felt good.

In that moment, she felt more than deserving of what she had just gotten. Everything she had caused Rebekah to feel. Everything that she left behind in New York. Whatever she had just done to enrage Damon Salvatore, future CEO, was worth what she had just gotten. She merely stared as the blood dripped off of her arms in long streaks and onto the floor. A gasp brought her out of this state. "Elena." Damon frowned, walking over to her quickly and reaching for her arms. She was supposed to be disgusted with him. She was supposed to hate him and push him away while he was trying to touch her. But she couldn't. She could only focus on the intense pounding in her ears and the hazy look the room was suddenly developing. "Elena? Elena!" the man's voice broke through to her, but seemed so far away she could not answer him. "Elena you were standing too close..I'm sorry!"

_It's okay,_ she wanted to tell him. _But...oh, shit. Damon? Where are my legs?_

Seeing how white she was becoming, he scooped her into his arms without a second thought. Redness began to stain the sleeves of his shirt but he could not bother with that right now, could he? As he pondered where to take her - back to the dining room, or to the clinic? - he was utterly aware of her drifting away from him. Jesus Christ, this was not happening. The cuts were not even that bad! She must faint at the sight of blood then, he decided. Ah, so Elena Gilbert was of the faint heart. Something about that thought made him feel uneasy. His mind raced as he looked down at her limp body. Her eyes were shut now and she was mouthing something that he could not make out. Ah, shit, shit, shit, shit..

He wounded up carrying her through a door that read 92A with a golden star beside it. When he placed her on the disgusting green sofa (disgusting because he never liked the color green) and decided that she did not look as if she were going to croak, he made way toward the bathroom where a small brown bottle, a warm cloth, and a tiny bag of cotton balls were what he emerged back out with. He had never actually taken care of anyone but Stefan. When his little brother had a small wound, Damon would take care of it easily. But larger wounds such as these long, deep gashes were tended to by the nurses that lived in their mansion apartments. He started off rather slowly, propping Elena's head and turning her arms over. Delicately, so gentle not to cause her pain, he began to dab at the red ooze with the cloth. The absorbing material sucked up the liquid sickly and in disgust, once her arms seemed to be cleaned, he threw it onto the foot table. Damon swallowed thickly and looked at her face. She seemed...asleep..kind of. He could make out the rapid movement of her eyeballs beneath her lids. Ah, now, where had Damon heard of such a thing before? Did that mean she was to awake soon? Nonetheless, he took a closer look at her arm with dread. There were about fifty tiny shards of glass penetrating her skin, clinging to it like some sort of ...some sort of something. Oh god. He was going to have to pluck the pieces out. Now how could he do that?

He stood abruptly and made way toward a large, Italian suitcase that was left on the floor unpacked. Out he pulled a tiny black bag, within were about thirty nail-clipping tools for the most delightful home manicure one could give themself. He reached for a tool that was typically used to remove pesky hang nails. The overall use of it could potentially be used to remove the glass shards from Elena's arm...well, at least, he hoped it could. The first several attempts of removing the glass were unsuccessfully and he winced as each time he came up short, Elena whimpered in her dreamlike state. He knew what he was doing was hurting her. Lucky for him, he finally got used to the way the tool worked in his large hands and managed to start removing the glass one by one. He gripped the tiny pieces in his hands, knowing that the palms of his hands were far too rough to pierce him as they had with Elena's delicate skin. He was nearly done by the time her eyelids started to flutter open.

"Mmm," she sighed, half awake. "D..Damon?"

He did not meet her eyes. "The glass is almost out of your arm. Stay still."

She opened her chocolate orbs wider now, taking in the sight before her. Was he..."Ouch!" As he murmured a small apology, she swallowed. Her throat was hoarse and dry. "You shouldn't have. Really."

"Why not?" he murmured, their voices quiet in the sudden darkness. He must have been working on her for longer than he thought. The room was taking on the form of night.

"I liked the pain." she sighed incoherently. "I deserved it."

"What?" he replied, genuinely hurt at her words. "Nobody deserves to bleed."

"I do." was all she said. He decided not to press any further on it, knowing that something deep down was wrong with the girl. She really was suicidal, then? He thought it was all just a joke. Now he felt like an ass for telling her she looked less suicidal earlier in the afternoon. Something stirred inside of him. It was, in fact, the idea that he wanted to help her. He wanted to forever keep her in his sight, afraid that she might kill herself. What did she do when she was alone? Was she popping pills? Was she doing drugs? Was she drinking? A sweat broke on his brow._ Oh, God, Elena. Why would you wish to die when you are so..._

_Do not finish that thought._

Once the glass shards were out, he dabbed a cotton ball with some of that brown bottle liquid and pressed it against her winds. She hissed, taking in a sharp intake of breath and releasing it coolly. He stood, figuring her wounds were cleaned, and began to dispose of the garbage he had managed to muster up. To his surprise, and Elena's, he took a seat beside her hip on the couch and merely gazed at her. She blinked, staring deep into his blue eyes. "I'm sorry." he whispered.

She nodded slightly, eyes slowly closing. "I just wanted to help."

He looked away, away at anything but her doe eyes. "Why do you hate your life, Elena?"

"W..what?" the brunette murmured, struggling to keep her eyes open. She could feel the heat radiating off of him and she fought the urge to start squirming. "I don't hate...hate my life."

"Oh." was all he could say in that moment. They sat in total silence, darkness falling over them, when she spoke again.

"Where am I?"

He frowned, suddenly realizing where they were as well. "My room."

Elena let that fact sink in. "I am? Nice place," she joked, knowing that it was hardly to make out the room at all in the dark.

A small smirk touched his lips and then faded away. "You can fall asleep, Elena. Nobody is going to hurt you here."

Elena nodded. Nobody here could hurt her. Nobody but herself. Nobody but the agonizing fact that she felt totally useless with Damon taking care of her. The fact that, right now, she felt like she should run for her own room and plop down on the bed and scream. Or run into the bathroom and throw up all of her emotions. Her memories clouded with the image of her blood oozing down her arm and she wanted to see it all again. She made a mental note to, perhaps, steal Rebekah's razor and cut her arm. What would happen?

Her eyes came to a close again and she gurgled out, "Why do you hate when I say f...the F-word?"

Damon sighed. She was horrendously aware of his face, closer to hers now. "Beautiful girls should not use ugly language." _Beautiful,_ she thought._ He thinks I'm beautiful._ "Now, let me ask you something.."_ Beautiful. Beautiful. He thinks I'm beautiful._

"Hurm?" she whispered.

"Why did you throw your notebook into the water?"

"Like I said, Mr. Salvatore, we're going down anyway." A small laugh escaped her lips before she was sent tumbling into the unknown, somewhere without blood and without Damon Salvatore. Who, by the way, thought she was beautiful.

* * *

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	5. Wounds

_Ronald Pierce named his most elegant and expensive ship after his new daughter, Katherine._

_ Mrs. Pierce hated this but never revealed her reasoning._

* * *

There is something about pain that brings human beings together. Out of everything that could possibly differentiate humans from one another- whether it be religion, ethnicity, languages, etc. - pain was very scarcely the only thing they had in common. Except for, perhaps, breathing. There are two types of pain in the word: physical and mental. Some people believe that the pain felt by your physical body is the worst type of the pain. It is the kind that rips you apart and tortures you until you cannot stand it no longer. Those who believe physical pain is the worst seldom have experienced traumatizing emotional pain.

When the pain is inside of your head, how can you escape? There are no drugs, no needles, no tranquilizers, that can numb the inner most part of you. Pain that is in your mind is forever and not one person ever truly gets over such a feeling. Nobody ever really killed themselves over physical pain; no, certainly not. It was themselves, their mind, their emotional trauma, that had caused them to tie the rope. Or slice their wrist. Or swallow the pills. It is never the sore feeling in your legs or the stinging in your arm. It is, and forever would be, the nagging of your very soul, cornering you until you need something more than what life had to offer you: death. Death was freedom. Death was escape, eternal, forever free of anything your mind could throw at you. Worthless? Ugly? Disgusting? Unworthy? Death could settle it all and more.

If only one had the courage.

Pain was the very first thing Elena had experienced when she woke from her slumber. Groggy and disoriented, she felt stricken with fear. The unfamiliar, tangy smell of men's cologne and alcohol filled the air. It was much stronger than the sweet smell of Rebekah's perfume which she was usually greeted with. Her eyes adjusted to the scene in front of her, to a room that was not hers. Instincts should have told her to run, to scream, to get out of there, but another instinct had overpowered that one easily. It was the fact that she knew she was safe here, in this room, with the only proof of this being the man passed out brutally on the armchair across from her. She scooted herself upright, a stinging pain shooting throughout her arm and her neck cramping sickly. She noticed now that she was on a couch. What a wonderful place to have slept, she thought sourly.

Flashbacks of the previous evening played throughout her head and it was then that she remembered she was with Damon Salvatore, the rich man she could not tolerate, and that he had taken care of her. A pang of gratitude swelled in her chest and she could not help but stare at him now. He was lounging very much like a man in that armchair, head thrown backward with his mouth slightly agape. There was no snoring, thankfully, but he had an angelic expression on his features. She could not look away. She could only stare at his perfection and trace the outline of his jaw with her eyes and somehow, for some reason, her fingers began to twitch and her whole body shivered. She felt the need to touch him, to see if he was real. Maybe she was dreaming and there was no Damon Salvatore. After all, she was the girl in the reflection. It only seemed fair that she should be punished this way; with a man too good-looking for his own good (or hers) and not being able to touch him because she couldn't stand a thing about him. Except...he thought she was beautiful. Her throat became dry at the thought. He was so utterly unimaginable and she was so disgusting and messed up. How could they ever be together? She wanted to die, needed to, and he was supposed to live and be rich and have nothing at all to do with her.

It was morning, but it wasn't light out. The room was relatively dark. She could remember darkness, now, and realized that when she had woken to Damon's care it had been very dark out - nighttime. So what time was it now? Morning. Early morning. Perhaps three? Or four? She placed her feet onto the floor and then gasped in shock. The pain was utterly sharp and disturbing and she let out a tiny cry of pain. Her back was seemingly set on fire. Odd, really, for the glass had penetrated her arms. Perhaps the nerves in her back were shot or something. She wasn't a doctor, but something was definitely wrong._ Greeeeat._

As she tiptoed her way toward the door (but not without pausing many times to tolerate the injuries), she gave one glance back at Damon. She felt guilty for playing the "morning after" card where the woman sneaks away unseen - wait, no. That was only after sex, was it not? She shuddered. Sex with anybody remotely similar to Damon Salvatore would be absolutely horrendous. He'd probably just stare in the mirror the whole time, she decided. Well, whatever. The point was that she felt absolutely guilty because he had taken care of her when she needed him. Hell, he carried her back to this room! She turned her head and then remembered roughly that he was the reason she was hurt in the first place. And so, reaching toward the door, she did not whisper a goodbye to him.

And that was when she wailed.

The under side of her left arm, while she had been reaching with her right, had been scraped roughly by one of the hooks on ...on...oh, fuck. What even was that thing? A hat rack? A coat rack? It was very expensive and also very rough. The wounds from the previous night, trying to heal themselves, were now torn open in a blood mess. It felt like stitches being broken and sharp stabs like knives were sent up her arm. She stumbled backward, clutching her arm to her chest, and then fell sideways right into the arms of someone that had cat-like reflexes, even after waking up.  
She could only stare up at him in shock, arm bloody, eyes tearing, and gasp for breath. He peered down upon her through the dim light, eyebrow cocked, blue eyes blazing, and frowned, "I'm appalled."

"W...what?" she gasped.

"You were sneaking out on me."

She started struggling in his grasp but his large (larger than she had thought) arms tightened around her protectively. She felt trapped, caged, and panic started to set in. "Let me go! Ow, ow, my_ ARM_!" He blinked and released her without realizing the damage he might have caused to her by gripping her so tightly. "I...I smacked it off your...your fucking rack thing!"

Damon flinched. "Elena."

"What?" she hissed, peering down to examine her arm. She knew what, but she didn't care. She was an adult and she could swear whenever the hell she wanted to. He'd just have to get used to that or leave. She was praying to god that he did not answer her. Much to her pleasure, he did not. She was barely done hopping around and examining the oozing arm when she felt his presence against her. She looked up, face close to his. His breath was sweet and intoxicating...like...like...

He blinked slowly at her and then, ever so gently, touched her wrist. He turned her arm to an angle where he could get a better look and whispered to her, "It's okay. You just reopened the wounds."

She seemed...lost. The Earth stopped rotating. She could literally feel the Earth itself stop spinning. She felt time freeze. She knew that if she could see the waves right now, they would be paused and poised mid-air, ready to take that breaking plunge. She imagined the seagulls overhead simply frozen with their wings spread out widely, elegantly, eyes locked onto a fish just beneath the ocean's surface. The only two people that remained alive and moving were the two of them; but even then Elena felt like she was frozen. She stared into his eyes and a hot flush came over her neck at the realization her arm had been on fire since he touched her. Deep in her chest her heat reacted by starting off in a sprint. Saliva poured in her mouth and she swallowed it back down nervously. "Um._.Oh_." was all she could muster.

He grinned, now, realizing what kind of shock she was going into. It was a flustered, hot and bothered shock, one he had seen many times before due to his touch or his presence. It pleased him greatly that she found him charming. But Elena was beautiful and stubborn and a pain in the ass and he very much liked her because of that. Something sad stirred inside of him, feeling like his was being weighed down by his life. Elena Gilbert hung around with Caroline Forbes. Enemies of his family, of the business, of him. As he thought about these thoughts his smile slowly faded and he sighed heavily, dropping her arm. He turned, heading toward the bathroom to grab another warm towel. Once he gave it to her and she had it absorbing the red liquid, he motioned for her to take a seat back down on his couch. She obeyed, feeling ever confused toward his bipolar behavior.

"You were running out on me."

Elena shifted in her seat, hot under his heavy gaze. "No I was not."

"Yes, you were." He reached up to rub his face. "I was already awake when you woke up. I was faking. I saw you deliberately head toward the door."

Her mouth pressed in a hard, tight line. "Maybe I was. We're not friends, we're strangers. Why should it matter if I stay?"

Damon stared at her for a very long time and then blinked in confusion. His features took on a shameful appearance as he turned his gaze toward the floor and shook his head. "It doesn't matter that you were leaving."

"Then why are you so upset? What did I do wrong?" she pleaded, upset by his crude behavior. She did not want another repeat of last night when he had smashed the wine glasses out of anger toward her. She wondered how far she could push his buttons and if he would ever lash out and hit her. He did not reply so she became a pest, constantly nagging. "Huh? Tell me. Why are you upset? Why are you mad at me? Damon? Hello? I deser-"

"Because I_ followed_ you." he suddenly hissed towards the floor. He looked up to meet her gaze and frowned deeply. "Happy? I'm confused because I chased after you. I knew you were leaving and yet I _followed _you."

"You ...wanted...me...to s-stay?" she uttered, whole body frozen in shock. Why would he want to keep her here with him? She was a total mess, a mistake, a walking nightmare. A reflection of somebody that used to be Elena Gilbert. "Can I ask why?"

He pondered that for a moment. Think of something, Damon. Think. It was purely because she was so light and breathable. The air smelled better when she was around. His blood boiled, she annoyed him, but she was also very interesting. And he craved to know what was going on inside her pretty little head and why she wanted to throw herself off of a ship like the S.S. Katherine. He wanted to know why she cared about his little brother and why she claimed she and Caroline Forbes weren't friends when he _knew_ they were. "We never..." he cleared his throat. "We never finished our business talk."

He watched the light, eager emotion fade from her eyes. They shifted into two glossy, brown pearls. "Yes." she said slowly. "We did not."

He crossed his legs and looked away from her. "I do not believe Caroline loves my brother. You can try to change that if you want. But it is doubtful you will get anywhere with it. Stefan_ does_ love _her_. I need to protect my brother, Elena. Family is above all. Above everything. Can you understand that?" She nodded and he sighed heavily.

"I need to know, Damon." she pleaded. "Why are you so afraid of them being together?"

He looked at the little brunette and wondered if she could somehow let her in. She had been right when she claimed them to be strangers. They were. He did not know anything about her. He knew nothing except her name, Elena Gilbert. She was friends with Rebekah Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes, surely. But where did she come from? What did she do? What were her passions? Was she in love? Had she ever been? Did she hate herself, now? Why? Why did she want to jump off the ship? No, he decided suddenly. No, he could not trust Elena Gilbert. She had a darkness to her. She was fragile, almost as fragile as the glass that had penetrated her arms. But there was strength inside of her - like a tiny flicker of flame ready to burst. It only needed fuel. Studying her throughout the night he had noticed things about her while she slept. How she whimpered, dreaming of things that bothered her. How the deep, dark circles beneath her eyes signaled lack of sleep or heavy distress. How her lips, pale yet plump, were a bit cracked and worn out. How her mood could shift from one to another, eyes giving off said emotions easily. He dodged her question with one of his own. Eyes narrowed softly, he whispered coolly, "Why did you throw your notebook into the ocean?"

Elena leaned back against the couch and shook her head in disbelief. "We're talking business, Damon. Not about me."

"This is part of the business."

"How?"

"I need to know who you are before I do something absurd like trust you." he murmured. She blinked, looking away in disgrace.

It was a long, dull moment before she responded. "You can trust me with anything, Damon. I have nobody to tell secrets to. Not even my own."

"Oh?" he replied, eyebrows shooting up. See, this is what he meant by her emotions. She seemed to stubborn and cold just a few moments and now she was crumbling again right in front of him. He resisted the urge to reach out and assure her everything was going to be okay. He knew he could not say that, though, because he knew very well that everything was 'okay' when it wasn't you. "The last time I..trusted..someone," he began warily. "It ended up badly. I don't throw secrets or information to just anybody."

Elena returned his gaze thoughtfully. "How can I be sure this is not just some weird tactic of yours so you can 'get to know me'? Show me around the ship? Take advantage of me?" her anger was building now. Higher, higher, higher..

He frowned. "I carried you back to my room and tended to your injuries. If I wanted to take advantage of you, I could have many times last night."

She scoffed and shook her head disgustedly. Stiff, she whispered, "That's not what I meant."

It clicked, now. She was afraid of being friends with him. Being 'close' to him. Letting him in. Telling him things. But why? Oh, Elena, sweet precious Elena...you have nothing to fear, he thought. He wanted to befriend her, truly. It was the fact that at any moment he could let her in and she could take off, destroying everything he'd built with the Salvatore Real Estate. He was supposed to inherit the business and here he was trying to build an alliance with an enemy. Oh, god, he thought. How mad he was! Little feeble, secretive, mysterious Elena in front of him like a scared child and his instincts screamed to be her protector. Something about them went together. She moved, he reacted. If only he knew what she was holding back. More importantly, why she was holding back from him. She needed his help - she made that remarkably clear. But what was stopping her?

Awkwardness. Confusion. Herself. These things kept her from sobbing into the stranger's arms. From trusting him. From letting him in. From letting him see that she was severely messed up. She constantly wanted to hurt herself. She did not wish to be looked at, nor spoken to, nor called beautiful...She was not worthy of such things! Every day she wanted to die more and more and she felt a sadness take over her mind. Visions of blood and death filled her. Each dawn promised another day she lost a part of herself. She knew that if she continued to be this way, one day she would wake up with no knowledge of who she was or had ever been before. She was reflection, an entity, something nobody could fix. And she had sensed from the beginning, standing on the edge of the ship, peering down at the waves below that Damon wanted to fix her. He could fix her. But how could she ever find it in her to let him do such a thing? Damon_ Salvatore_?

Something was happening between the two of them. Something horrendous. Something bad. Something like...understanding. Like deep loathing.

He must have noticed something about her change abruptly, for he moved closer to her. He sat next to her on the couch and looked at her until she returned the gesture. With an unsteady hand, he placed it on her knee and squeezed gently. She looked down at where their bodies connected and felt a rush of excitement...or confusion. Once he stopped shaking, she peered up beneath her lashes. "We cannot help Stefan...or..." he took a deep breath, then continued. "Or Caroline... without first helping each other. You know that. You sense it. I can tell."

Her forehead crumbled. "How can you tell?"

"Because you and I, we are nearly the same. There is something about us, Elena. Between us. Maybe I'm being delusional or maybe I'm being an asshole by saying this but... something told me not to let you walk out of that door ten minutes ago. I can't explain it, really, but something told me that if you walked out of that door I would have to chase you down. No matter how long it took you to come back."

Elena's head was spinning. What the_ fuck_ was he doing? Why was he being so sweet? Go back to being an ass! Go back to being a rich man with your rich toys! _Why do you give a damn about me_? She was speechless and at her loss of words, he continued.

"Understand that Stefan is the only thing that one hundred percent is bound to me." She wanted to protest, to tell him that he had money and a future business and a father, but he continued without really looking at her now. "If I lost everything I have now, I know that I would still have him. Which is why Caroline is wrong for him." On her knee, his hand clenched. "He's my little brother."

"I know." Elena choked out.

"Do you? Then... you understand that this is why I cannot trust you. By trusting you, I am risking him. Because if something bad were to happen and you were to...betray me... betray everything I reveal to you... then I betray him and I lose him and he gets hurt."

Elena felt hollow. The way he spoke about his brother reminded her very much about how she used to (well, maybe she still did.) about Jeremy. Jeremy had been her little brother. She knew what it was like to want to protect your sibling with everything you had. She understood. She did. She nodded slightly and then took a deep breath. He was giving her some insight to him...shouldn't she give something to him, too, then? She focused her gaze on those stunning blue orbs and fear began to shake her down to her bones. No, no! She quickly pushed the thought away in her mind. She could not let him in.

Maybe...another time. But not now.

"Will you at least tell me a little about you..as a person? Where are you from?" he asked lightly.

She swallowed and then said softly, "New York City."

"Ahh!" he chuckled, amused, all traces of the tension and sorrow and whatever-it-was-between-them now gone. "A city girl. And your birthday?"

"June 2nd." Assuming what his next question was, she answered it smugly, "I'm twenty." His eyes seemed to become brighter. In a seductive purr he leaned forward and trailed a finger up her thigh where, moments ago, he had been squeeze her knee. The movement made her thighs quiver but only for a moment before she redeemed herself. She slapped his hand away and rolled her eyes. "Sexually assaulting me will get you nowhere."

"Maybe not." the charming man winked. Elena stiffled a small smile. "And what is it that you do in New York?"

"I'm a writer; a journalist. I write meaningless theatre reviews and keep myself up to date with New York's latest."

"You mean celebrities and trends?"

"Well..." the brunette leaned back against the couch, her neck aching. "Perhaps not. I do not primarily focus on famous people. Which is why I was not aware of you, I suppose."

"Yes," he flashed a row of white teeth. "I suppose so, m'dear."

She studied him curiously for a minute before looking away oddly. "Caroline has planted the thought that I am a horrible journalist."

At the mention of this, Damon frowned. "Why so?"

"I was not aware of Katherine Pierce. Or her father. Or the Salvatores. Journalists should be up to date and aware of everything, correct? I am nothing, it seems. Another thing to add to my list of faults!" she mouthed bitterly, touching her forehead in horror.

"Oh, nonsense." Damon said quickly, suddenly afraid she might go into a depressive state. "What else do you write? Do you write..novellas? Poetry, perhaps? Oh, write me a poem, Elena." he pleaded. Elena eyed him strangely and then let out an emotionless laugh.

"I dabble in creative writing. No poetry, I'm afraid." His pout was simply so adorable that Elena found herself actually contemplating the idea. That was a way she could get through to him; be friends with him...right? Perhaps she'd write all her thoughts through three-lined poetry and leave it on his door for him daily. How cute, how romantic, how...disgusting. She flashed back to what she had written in that coral notebook and shuddered. Surely her poetry would be just like it, filled with how much she hated herself. She wondered what Damon would do if he read something so horrible. If he was aware that girl he was speaking to now was no more than shell, a disgusting creature.

"Is your family on the ship?" he mused curiously, a face so innocent Elena could hardly stand to look at it.

"No." she replied coldly, standing up abruptly. "Perhaps it is time that I leave."

He stood, too, and then frowned deeply. "It is very early in the morning..."

"I wish to go for a walk."

"Your wounds-"

"I'm fine." she hissed by accident. Shocked by her behavior, she started toward the door - still barefoot. "If they bleed again I shall have Rebekah tend to them. Or a clinic." Lies. Pitiful lies. If anything she'd split them open again; watch the red ooze down onto the floor...drip...drop...

"Where will you walk to, then?" the man behind her questioned seriously, following her like a lost puppy all the way to the door. Elena glared at the coat rack that had scratched her.

"On the upper deck, I think. I wish to see the water." Damon's body began to shut down at her words. Water. Deck. Elena. These were not very good combinations, especially if he had said something to upset her. Jesus Christ, her attitude was so all over the place! He never knew whether she was happy with him or heavily displeased. Though he could not blame her for such. Feeling terrified that she might throw herself overboard, he caught her lightly by the wrist. She halted, glancing over her shoulder. "Goodbye," she coughed.

"Promise me one thing, Miss Elena."

A promise? "What?"

He feared what the words might do to her but he spoke them anyway, clear as day. This was the only way he could stop her from doing anything drastic.

"Do not let me die alone."

* * *

Damon Salvatore pushed his way through the solid oak doors. For once, the absence of a doorman did not shock him as it very would have a week ago. He was forever changed by the thoughts of Elena Gilbert and he could not deny that, all morning, he had been thinking about her. Sleep has failed him and in result two dark circles were under his eyes. A nasty thing to have! He looked very much older than twenty-four and his father, Giuseppe, made it his mission not to let Damon forget it. "Honestly, son," the man sighed. "Have I told you anything at all? Sleep is important. It keeps your skin clear, your head alert, and-"

"And your personality bright." the elder son finished for him in a heavy sigh. He was prodding and poking his Italian dish with distaste, though it was made by the one-of-a-kind Stefan Salvatore. He and his father had agreed to let the aspiring chef cook for them. Which, if you asked Damon, was nonsense for they had_ real_ chefs able to cook _real_ meals that tasted_ real_ fine. Odd, Damon sighed. Stefan was generally a very well chef and his dishes were superb. So why was it that this one, loaded with mushrooms and fine spices, did not appeal to him at all? Was it him, his tastebuds, his mind, or was it Stefan? Who, by the way, had been completely clouded with thoughts of a blond Caroline Forbes.

Stefan sat at the table now with other two, older men. Sons and father gathered cheerily and Giuseppe made a small comment on how excellent the food was cooked. For a laugh, he almost threw in that it would have tasted better if made by someone they paid to do it. Nobody laughed. Giuseppe took a sip of rich wine and then fixed his gaze upon Damon. "I was meaning to speak with you, son, about your disappearance at dinner last night."

"Hm?" Damon recalled, then felt slightly embarrassed by his actions. He remembered now that he had left with Elena only to never return. "Right. I apologize."

"You should not be apologizing to _me_ but to the fine gentleman from Germany that wished to see the future CEO of their best real estate agents. You do realize the importance of this, don't you? Do not tell me you are dreaming of other things! Like...culinary." he shot a glare at his younger son before turning back to the elder. Stefan huffed and sank in his seat, defeated.

"No." Damon sighed, dropping his fork. "I realize how important this is."

"And might I ask where were you, then?"

"I was..." his blue eyes wandered around the room before settling back on his irritated father. "With somebody."

"Oh?" the father perked up. "And who might that be?"

The fork was picked back up. Damon fondled it in his fingers before pursing his lips and, with a wave of his hand, murmured, "You know who."

"Do I? Perhaps you should remind me."

_I'm treading in dangerous waters,_ he thought, before he replied, "Miss Pierce required my company."

"Ah-ha!" Giuseppe clapped his hands together, laughing twice. "I knew you were with her! Good for you, son. Oh, I do hope you are being careful. Let us not forget that the blood boils within a man is often-"

Damon began speaking over his father loudly. "I'm twenty-four years old, father! I do not need such things repeated to me! Try that with your younger son. Isn't that so, _Stef_?"

Stefan began to feel sick. Eyes wide, he watched as his father turned to him in despair. Oh how he could murder his older brother in that moment! "I do not need that talk." was all he said simply, shrinking under the gaze of his father. Damon, thankful the conversation had turned away from his affairs, plucked a mushroom off of his plate and began to chew. Disgusting.

"No, no, you are older now, as well. I expected my sons to stay virgins I just cannot imagine they would do so out of wedlock." Giuseppe sighed. Stefan, wide-eyed, began trying to avoid his father's awkward gaze. Damon merely scoffed, untouched by the subject of sex. "Stefan, then, are you...have you been with a woman?"

Stefan stood up quickly. "I need to finish my dessert. Cake _must_ be baked to perfection, you know!" His behind was already through the kitchen doors, a drop of sweat on his brow.

Giuseppe turned to Damon and gave him a questioning look. He merely shrugged in response, saying, "I don't give a damn about what he does." He stood from the table and was about to descend when he heard his father's voice call after him.

"You should bring Miss Pierce to dinner with us one of these fine nights. I have yet the chance to speak with her."

Damon's blood ran cold and he let out a shaky breath. "She's awful busy these days, father." His entire body was trembling. Reaching up to fix his collar, which was incredibly tight, he made way onto the deck and leaned over the edge. The salty air blew into his nostrils and he inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of the ocean. He had yet to see Elena since she had left him in his room. That was morning. Now, it was evening. There was a deep ache inside of his chest at what she could possibly be doing now. Was she alright? God, he prayed that she was alright. He needed to know her, to understand her, to fix her. But how could he do that when he had no clue what was bothering her? She was never going to let him in. Never.

He gazed across the open waters until something floating drift caught his eye. He stared at it for a very long time before cursing whatever God was up above. He spun around on his heel and declared that alcohol would be his friend for the rest of the evening. Though the image had looked very real, it could not be. It simply could not. He was hallucinating, surely. Going mad within his own mind. That is what the mind did, correct? Played tricks on you? Made you see things that were not real, though you perceived them to be? That must be it, then. There was no other explanation for what he had seen: the coral notebook, drifting in the open sea.

* * *

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	6. Stranger

_When her daughter was two years old, Mrs. Pierce fell ill and was announced dead a few months later._

_Ronald Pierce made no comment on his wife's death and soon the media stopped asking._

* * *

Rebekah and Elena were not on good terms. The beautiful blond had been pacing her room all morning, waiting for Elena to show up. Since she had disappeared with Damon Salvatore at dinner, Rebekah grew more and more worried at the absence of her friend. The clock had struck a new hour, another hour gone with no contact from her American friend. How rude! How disgusting! The horrible thoughts filled her mind. The only conclusions she could manage were these: firstly, Elena had snuck off with that handsome, rich man. As much as she liked to admit to herself that Elena would never do such a thing, she knew that Damon could have more than easily seduced her. The mere idea made her blood boil. And what was she doing now, then? Being caressed by his soft hands and moaning in pleasure as she, her loyal best friend, grew ill with worry? Secondly, something very bad happened to Elena while on her stroll with the elder Salvatore. Highly unlikely and irrelevant, she decided. Yet the more she pondered these two options the more she wished to believe the second in disgust at the first. What a loss she was at! And then, just as she had laid herself to bed, the brunette herself snuck into the room. Her sly crouch and her quiet demeanor practically screamed her intention of being otherwise unnoticed. Unlucky for her, Rebekah was all too furious to let her get by so easily. Sitting upright the blond cried out, "And look what the cat drags in! Could you have been any more mysterious, you ignorant girl?"

Elena mentally cursed. She stepped into the dim light of the room and winced. "You're awake."

"Damn you, Elena! Of course I am awake! Can you be any more-" her friends voice was cut off abruptly. The sight of Elena, drowsy and pale, made her sick. "Elena! What has happened?"

Elena covered herself and turned away, heading toward the restroom. "I fell on some glass."

Rebekah rushed over, taking her arm roughly and turning it over. She gasped at the thick wounds that covered the bottom of Elena's forearms. "I thought you were with Damon Salvatore."

"I was. Do not worry about my arm. He tended to it."

"Tended to it?" she whispered, deeply puzzled. "Honestly, what happened tonight? Do you know how worried I've been about you? Darling, you've given me such a scare! The minute the sun rose I was going to alert Caroline's father of your circumstances."

Elena briefly wondered what would happen if she were to go missing and the last person known to be with her was the famous Damon Salvatore. As Rebekahs eyes pooled with fresh tears, something deeply stirred inside of Elena. In front of her was breathing proof that, if she were to disappear, she would have been mourned. But something stopped her from truly realizing this. Even though it was horribly Clear that her friend had lost sleep because of her, something continued to tell her that nobody cared whether she was alive or not.

"I'm here now." Elena whispered, pushing her way into the restroom. She closed the door roughly. "you may go back to sleep now. Terribly sorry to keep you awake, Rebekah. Dawn will be interesting." When Rebekah had given no response, Elena looked into the mirror. The only lighting available were two heavenly scented candles on the edges of the sink. Elena lost herself in the flickering flames before reaching over to hover her fingertips in it. She could feel the heat, but there was no pain. Why?

She pressed her fingers deeper. Her eyes looked beyond the flame, now. But she didn't know what she was looking at, really. Her fingers began to burn, the smell grotesque, but she could not feel any burning sensation at all. This deeply confused her to the point where she grew very angry. She was angry at Rebekah, whom had pretended to care about her. How fake those tears were! A true friend would have sought after her, no? She was very angry at Damon Salvatore, for taking care of her. She felt it in her very core - the disgusting feeling that she owed him. Could it have not been enough that she felt guilty for almost killing herself with him? Of course not! Now she had to reflect on how wonderful he could be, and how he had taken care of her. He carried her to his room and actually wanted to care for her. How ... Stupid! Her hatred of these two people was hardly a fragment of the hatred she felt for herself. She hated who she was no longer. She hated this walking reflection of Elena Gilbert, journalist. She hated how alone she was and she hated how she wrote and she hated how she threw those writings into the ocean and she hated, mostly, how she liked the feel of pain.

And she hated how she could not feel any now.

She pulled back her index finger to examine it. It was blistered and distorted, the exact outcome of what she expected it to be. But there was no pain and this simple, sole fact made her feel like puking. Which wasn't an option for she was certain Rebekah hadn't gone to bed just yet and Elena hadn't the willpower to vomit silently. Her heaving was always loud and sickly, and she would moan as the tears drizzled down her face. Vomiting was not a choice and she certainly was not trying to do anything drastic to herself. It was a way to cleanse her thoughts and her body. Often, her thoughts made her so sick that she wanted to throw up. And so she would.

She'd grown a craving for pain, for damage, for insanity. There was no way to stop it. Just as there was no way to stop the self loathing and the utmost desire to die.

She refused to look in the mirror but her willpower ended up slipping, so she did and that resulted in weak sobs erupting from her throat. She couldn't feel pain. She couldn't vomit. In a fit of rage she began clawing at her arms, ripping at the flesh and exposing the fresh wounds from earlier. Beneath her nails her skin was being collected, and she felt the hot warmth of her blood on her hands. She sobbed and continued to tear and pick until, at last, she felt the horrible injuries start to overwhelm her with sharp spasms that jolted her. Pain. Oh, god. It felt so horrible and felt so good at the very same time.

_I deserve this,_ she remembered. Somewhere, Damon was probably falling asleep. The idea of him sleeping peacefully disturbed her. He was so kind and such an ass and so rich and just ...

He was right when he said they had an understanding, that something between them was the same. She felt it, too. But now, as he slept peacefully and she stood in her bathroom blistered and bloody, she could not help but feel there was no understanding between them at all. In that moment there was nothing similar to them; only a fleshy human and a distorted reflection.

* * *

The next time her eyes opened she was utterly aware that she had slept for many hours. The sun was shining in from the windows, but not nearly bright enough for an afternoon. It was much to a surprise that she discovered it was nearly dinner time. She jerked herself off of the bed and peered at Rebekah's bed, not at all shocked to find it empty. On the quilt there was a note and in reading the elegant script of her friend she discovered that dinner would be waiting for her in the Blue Room. Elena frowned, finding it amusing that if it weren't for Caroline Forbes they would be eating a buffet on the lower deck.

Her body did not ache. Elena brought her eyes to her arms and noticed that they were relatively scabbed but looked as though they were doing okay. Weird, she decided, and then forced herself into a blue sun dress. Blue was a calming color and she had no idea why she picked it until she remembered she was eating in the Blue Room. How lovely! Feeling as though today was the day to redeem herself due to last night slash morning's behavior, she made sure to pin up her hair in a charming bun. She even went out of her way to borrow blush and an eyelash curler from Rebekah's expensive make up stash. Straight from England!

As she passed through the hallway doors and onto the level of the Blue Room, she thought about Rebekah. She had promised that she would not abandon her friend right before they left New York City. The doors opened and she stepped inside.

_No matter how much Rebekah may not care about me,_ she thought as her chocolate orbs rested on the girl through the crowd of passengers, _I will hold my promise. I will not abandon her._

Why it was called the Blue Room was beyond Elena, for the room was mostly silver. Silver wallpaper, silver lights, silver essence. The only "blue" were the felts on the silver chairs which were aligned around the white tables. Rebekah caught her eye and waved her over where she stood alongside Matthew Donovan. The two were blushing and Matthew looked weirdly smug but Elena didn't comment on it. "Nice to see you're awake." Rebekah murmured.

Elena nodded. "I am. Has dinner been served?"

"Not yet. We're dining with Caroline and the Donovans tonight, Elena. Isn't that wondrous?"

Elena cast a glance toward the typical all-American boy. His blue eyes sparkled at the mention of his family and he was gazing toward Rebekah with look of adoration. She could not help but note the differences in Matthew Donovan and Damon Salvatore. Damons eyes were the bluest she had ever seen and it was not that they were bright but that they were stunning. She remembered now how they captivated her and she wondered if Rebekah was ever captivated by Matthews eyes. "Very." Elena nodded, allowing Matthew to lead the way toward their table. Rebekah was obviously falling over him and he was enjoying it every second, which made Elena feel disturbed. Luckily, Matthew's family consisted of only his mother and sister, Victoria. Caroline Forbes wandered in from God Knows Where, stumbling to take a seat next to Elena and throwing her a grin.

"Here comes the soup," Caroline pointed out. Elena's stomach rumbled as she smelled the deliciousness of the French onion soup coming her way. She never knew Caroline was an eager eater, but she did now. The girl was practically giddy with excitement. She must have been with Stefan, she thought. She threw Rebekah a knowing glance but, of course, Rebekah was absorbed in Matthew's mother, who was talking about some fancy liquor she tried while on the ship. Elena took a heavy sigh and, as the soup was placed in front of her, reached for her spoon. And then froze. Horror washed through her and made er shudder. A chill crawled down her spine as she realized her finger was more than blistered and bloody. It was... Fine. Absolutely fine. There was no scarring, no blister, no anything. Hurriedly she flipped her hand over and over. A bead of sweat formed on her temple and she began breathing heavily. What the hell? She was absolutely, one hundred percent positive that she had purposely burnt herself. She watched as she stuck her finger in the flame. She watched her skin melt. That horrid smell of burning flesh remained still in her nostrils. Oh, how confused she was. She turned to Rebekah and swallowed thickly. "Rebekah, when did I fall asleep?"

Rebekah turned toward her friend and whispered back, "As soon as you got home, dear. You passed right out I hardly had any time to yell at you for abandoning me." The blond frowned, remembering how worried she had been last night and how furious Elena had made her. Elena leaned back against her chair and brought a hand against her forehead. She was burning with some sort of a fever. "Elena, are you alright? You don't look well."

"I..." she breathed out, eyes on her soup. "I'm fine." She reached forward to take a sip of it, refusing to look at her disgustingly perfect finger. Next to her, Caroline giggled.

"Oh, Elena, isn't it good? Taste it again! How perfect it is, right? Isn't that so?" she chimed. Elena felt like slapping her.

"Er, yes.."

"Stefan made it!" she burst. "Well, not really. It is his very own recipe! And the cooks did what he said! Oh, how nice. I'm so glad you like it. I was so, so worried. You know, he made the entre, too! This was only a french onion soup, of course. His entre is made from scratch!"

Everything she was saying was going through one ear and out the other. Elena had tuned out, wanting to figure out for herself why her finger was not burned. According to Rebekah, she had passed out as soon as she went into their room. Strange, for she was certain she had not fallen asleep several hours after she got home. Oh, what was going on now? Was she losing her memory? Or perhaps it was all a dream. Yes, certainly. Here was that simple explanation; the fact that everything was very unreal to her. Damon was not real, she was not real, hell for all she knew she probably was not even aboard the ship. Maybe she truly died with her parents and this was some sort of twisted hell, a hell in which the lines of reality and fantasy blurred. Caroline was still talking until a single name brought her out of her thoughts. Elena whipped her head toward the rich girl and hissed, "What?"

"Oh, yes, he said he wishes to speak with you. Funny, I thought you disliked the Salvatore family, Elena. He claims you know where his room his which makes me think, what have you been using nights for? Certainly not sleeping. Or maybe you were sleeping, but not in the sense that we think..." the blond curled her lips into a feline smile. Elena frowned and shuddered once. She dropped her spoon and stood, wanting nothing more than to see Damon and work some stuff out with him. They had a lot to talk about.

Rebekah looked up. "Where are you off to?"

_How nice of you to pry yourself off of Matthew,_ Elena thought. "Damon wishes to see me."

"And since when are you in a hurry to see him? Honestly, Elena. I know..." her eyes flickered to Caroline briefly, then back. "I know what was talked about, what we planned, but after last night...darling, you really should not."

Elena looked down on Rebekah, the fury inside of her rising. Caroline spoke up. "_Planned?_ What has been planned? And yes, why are you in such a hurry to spend time with him?"

She had no answer for them other than one what they could not understand. No matter how hard she tried, she would not be able to explain to her the emotions that Damon Salvatore brought out. The good ones, of course. Mainly, she needed to discuss how she felt about him. This part of her that "owed" him needed to be done with. If he wanted something from her, she needed to know. She needed to stop feeling tied to him, in debt. It was time they got down to business and it was time she discovered why the relationship between Caroline and Stefan was so dangerous. She said nothing to the girls, only began walking back toward the doors in a hurry. A small pang of guilt rushed through her at the thought that she would not be able to try Stefan's dish. Sorry, Caroline, but I have better things to do. Elena sighed to herself. She was unsure whether or not she still had it in her to help the blond rich girl. After all, Caroline was not the nicest person to her. But she was doing it for Rebekah, because Rebekah was her friend. She felt horribly confused about everything and managed to retrace her steps back to Damon Salvatore's room. Butterflies swelled in her stomach at the thought of seeing him. Things were certainly not going to get better with him and she felt like their relationship was more than complicated. Firstly, they had both pledged to take their lives with each other. Even if it seemed like nothing to him (Elena was unsure what it meant to him at all, actually.) it meant the world to Elena. She could not die without this stranger; she could not leave him to the harsh reality of the world without taking him with her. It was as simple as that. If he were to die, she would follow, because there was an eternal promise between them that declared, even if they were strangers, they would go together. Secondly, together they were a rollercoaster of uncertainy. He wanted to get to know her before he let her in and she desired to let him in but feared there was nothing left of her for him to see. They were supposed to be strictly down to business and it ended it up in him dazzling her, getting her to admit where she came from and what she did. He had taken care of her and that deeply concerned her. She'd rather he was a heartless guy with nothing to redeem him.

A drink. That's all he wanted. He wanted to speak with her and discuss how they could fix this thing happening with Caroline and his little brother. That's all. She stepped forward into his room without knocking and was pleased to find that he was in the small kitchen area. He had his back to her and Elena could hear the sound of liquid falling against the inside of a glass. She took a deep breath and smoothed down her little sun dress with her hands before calling out, "Damon?"

He turned to look over his shoulder. At the sight of her, his entire face lit up. God, Elena thought, why are you so happy to see me? His raven hair was devilish and his grin was pure white. She fell under the intensity of his blue eyes from across the room. Feeling like her knees were ready to give out, she leaned a steady arm against the wall. He turned completely now, two glasses in his hands, and wandered over to her eagerly. "By all means, let yourself in."

She blushed a deep scarlet. "O-oh, my apologies. I..I didn't, I mean, the door.. you asked..."

He chuckled and handed her the glass which contained a clear substance. Elena watched the bubbles climb to the surface and exploded. She took it warily and pressed her lips against the glass. Sparkling water? "Elena," he smiled, voice husky. "It is perfectly fine. I was merely joking."

"Water?" she questioned, looking at his glass. The substance in his was darker and looked like some sort of wine.

"You told me you didn't drink."

She frowned, wondering why he was being so ... perfect. How could he go out of his way to remember that mere fact about her? "Right. Thank you. Now, Caroline said you wished to see me? I believe it is time that we talk."

He nodded sternly and gestured toward the living room where, last night, she had been passed out on the couch. Her eyes flickered to the armchair that she had watched him in. A feeling of despair washed through her at the realization that she had been staring at him while he had been pretending to be asleep. Oh, god. Had he seen her admiring him? Her knees felt weak again. After she took a seat on the couch and he beside her, he began speaking. "We never finished talking last night. I still wish to know more about you."

Her eyes flickered toward the ground. "So you can trust me."

"Yes. But that is hardly the only reason. I wish to know more about you."

"You do?" she turned toward him, searching his face for any hint of lying. He was being genuine, she decided. He really wished to know more about her. But what could she tell him? I am nothing... but he thinks I'm beautiful..

"Of course I do. Like I told you last night, there is something short of an understanding between us. I find you good company, even if you can be irritating. But I hardly can blame you for I imagine I am not a stroll in park to be with, as well." Elena let out a loud laugh, completely unaware that she was falling under his charm. He laughed along with her, memorizing the sound of her windchime giggles.

"You are quite right, Mr. Salvatore."

His face softened and, with his lips in a smirk, he gazed into her eyes. He was silent for a few moments before he asked, "Would you consider calling me Damon? Just Damon."

Elena pursued her lips and then tilted her head slightly to the left. "Why so? Does Mr. Salvatore bother you?"

"Bother me?" he repeated, deciding whether or not it did. Finally, he murmured, "No. But my business partners call me Mr. Salvatore."

"And am I something more than a business partner?" she found herself purring by accident. He fixed his gaze on her, eyes wide. "I mean, what we are doing here is for business. Business that involves what Stefan and Caroline are doing."

He ignored her. "Will you give me that, then? To call me Damon and nothing else?"

She stared at him for a long, the silence screaming. Finally, she sighed and nodded in the slightest. "Fine, Damon." He childish grin resulted in a grin from her and she felt something strange settle between them. "Now, we really need to...look past some things. For instance, what has happened between us-"

"What has happened between us?" he quoted. "And what might be that, dear?"

"With you tending to my care and...and...the..the night on the deck.." she whispered. Nerves were getting the best of her, she noted. "I think it is best that we put those events behind us, for the sake of Caroline and your brother. I feel as though I cannot work with you without thinking about it."

"Ah. I see." he smiled, placing his drink on the table in front of them. She did the same, wiping her hands on her bare thighs. He leaned back against the couch and threw an arm over her. Much to his surprise, she leaned back against him casually. "If it makes you feel better, darling, I can hardly stop thinking about it as well. But I fail to see why this would cause such a problem."

She bit her lip in hesitation, deciding whether or not to tell him the truth. Could she expose herself to him? Perhaps just a part of herself, just something to get him to understand what was happening inside of her head. "I feel as though I owe you, M- Damon, and if I keep thinking about that I will never able to work with you." Elena was unaware that she was now speaking hurriedly, so quickly that Damon was scrambling to understand her. "You should have not taken care of me last night."

"Why not? You were hurt."

"I could have been easily taken care of by the doctors aboard," she pointed out. "Why did you carry me back here? Is this...what you wanted?" she said suddenly, as if the idea was seeming more and more possible with each second. "You wanted me to feel this, to feel as if I owed you for taking care of me."

Damon's eyes widened and he shook his head. "No, no. I was the reason you were hurt. I owed it to you for it was my fault that you were hurt. Elena," he pleaded, reaching to take the hand off of her thigh and hold it in his. "I meant no harm." Her eyes travelled to where they touched and she winced at the electricity that buzzed through them. How could he have this on her? He was so charming and kind hearted (even when he was being cocky and arrogant) and she felt like slapping him. Did he not see that she was terribly broken? That she wanted nothing to do with people that were aware of who they were and how they felt? People like Damon Salvatore. She pulled her hand away sharply.

"Stop doing that!" she hissed. "Damon, this is what I am talking about! We are not friends. I do not wish to be friends with you. I am here for you to trust me so you will tell me why the relationship between your brother and Caroline..." she trailed off, taking a deep sigh. Oh why did she constantly feel as though she were repeating herself? "I am not stupid. Something is going on with your family and..and...Ronald Pierce. And the Forbes. Just do me a favor and let me help your brother. And help Caroline." At the mention of Caroline, Damon's eyes hardened. She failed to ignore it and murmured, "I need to know why you react like that. You told me that Caroline and you were once a thing. Is that why?"

Damon looked away. It seemed as though she were trying immensely to become less friendly and more business-like. If this is what she wants, he decided. But how could he find it inside of him to trust this - like she was always pointing out - stranger? He sighed heavily. "What happened between Caroline and I cannot be discussed. I must trust you first-"

"Then trust me," she begged, unthinkingly reaching out to touch his bicep. The muscles beneath the thin fabric of his shirt were tensed and she gave him a gentle yet uncertain squeeze of encouragement. They were still holding hands. He lifted his eyes to hers and she gazed into them thoughtfully. "You have my word, Damon. And my word is good."

He took a long, steady breath and continued to hold her eyes with his. She was being so honest that he felt like he could let her in and he could, in fact, trust her. "You must swear to me that anything I tell you is to never be repeated with anyone other than me. Even Miss Rebekah, because I am sure she has part in you holding this...business relationship...with me." Her heart fluttered at the word 'relationship' but she could not understand why at all. "Please," he squeezed her hand and swallowed.

There was something about him, she realized. Something about him that made him so genuine and sweet and unable to trust anybody. It was hardly anything about her but more as though he had been conned once and trust did not exist within him. She had nothing to say to him. She could only stare, only gaze into his eyes and wish to understand this man that sat next to her. This stranger had somehow gotten under her skin and she felt as though she could do nothing to shake him. He would continue to take up every thought in her mind no matter what they were - strangers, friends, or business partners. Perhaps they would always be all three of those things, neither of them able to allow their relationship to be any less complex. She nodded slightly and then looked at him from beneath her lashes, hand burning in his. "You told me love didn't exist."

"What?" he asked warily.

"In the hallway. You told me that love did not exist. And yet, you said your brother loved Caroline." she said sternly. "That does not make sense."

"Love does not exist, Elena." he said, body tensing. He refused to look at her now and even dropped her hand. Already she felt uncomplete. "What I meant was that he thinks he loves her, but he does not. He is a foolish child."

"Love is not foolish, Damon." she whispered, folding her arms across her chest. For a brief second, his eyes flashed to the scabs on her arms. They were beautiful memories of when he had taken care of her and had watched her peacefully sleeping, the flickers of her own mind crossing her features every so often. She was so beautiful, he thought to himself. A beautiful stranger.

"It is, Elena. And it does not exist."

"Maybe not to you," she suggested lightly, reaching to touch his face. Where had this courage come from? She had never been risky or courageous and certainly would not dare to touch the face of a future CEO, a famous rich man like Damon Salvatore was. Yet here she was, fingers grazing across his skin and turning his chin so she could see those blue eyes again. "Like I said, those that often feel like love is only imagination...are often those that have yet to experience it."

His brow crumbled in confusion. Here she was again being bipolar. Her emotions were all over the place. Just five minutes ago she had been demanding they get down to business...and now she was enchanting him with her touch, trying to make him believe in love. He knew as much as the next guy, or perhaps as much as his father, that love was not real. It was something made up in fairytales. Ever since he was little, he dreamed of taking the Salvatore Real Estate, not a wife. He could not imagine there would ever be a woman to capture his heart...in fact, up until recently, he was sure he did not have one. Oh how confused he was. Who was he? What did he feel? Lately he had lost touch with his identity and began to question everything he believed. Or had that started when he met Elena? He had nothing to say to her, but he found that the feel of her hand against his face was very soothing. He enjoyed it immensely and leaned into her touch. "I meant it when I said you were beautiful," he murmured, eyes closing.

Elena stiffened. "W..what?"

"I could see the look of doubt on your face when I said it." he whispered. "But I meant it. You are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

Oh Damon, she wanted to cry, you do not know me. "You would never find me beautiful if you knew who I was and not what I appear to be."

"So tell me," he took her hand from his cheek and brought it to his lips. "Take a chance with me."

Eyes wide, she began losing her sense of reality. What she dreaming? Surely she must be. This was a horrible, horrible dream, where these confused emotions she felt for Damon Salvatore were haunting her. "I do not take risks..or chances."

"So start." he frowned, opening his eyes slowly. "I want to know who you are."

She ripped her hand from his grasp and stood from the couch, rushing to get as far away from him as possible. She shook her head. No, no, no, no. No! Damon Salvatore would never wish to know her. He was perfect, an angel, and she was nothing more than a reflection. A disgusting shell, someone not human, someone that liked to hurt herself over and over again... "No, you don't." she said hoarsely.

He quickly stood and walked over to her. She had her back against his chest, arms folded across herself in a desperate attempt of keeping herself together. She felt like puking, like running into the bathroom to bleed... She shook her head, choking back tears. What the hell was happening to her? To him? To them? What were they? He lifted a finger to trace it down the back of her neck. Slowly he trailed it down the side of her, across her shoulder and down her arm. She felt the need to shudder, as if she were cold, but she repressed the urge easily. "I wish to know the woman I pledged my life to." he said slowly, breath fanning across the top of her head. She started to shake. "The woman I will not die without."

This was the part where she was supposed to turn around and let him know that she could let him in. And then they would be friends and they would become close and they could let them exchange every part of their souls to each other. Then they would frolic across the ship and laugh and stare out into the open ocean and hold each other tightly, a little more than friends and less than enemies. She turned slowly, peering up at him for he was many inches taller than her. She felt small and vulnerable, feeling like she could not defend herself. "I can't." her voice broke.

"How can I ever trust you if I don't know who I'm trusting?" his face twisted into some sort of painful expression. She felt like someone just hit her with a whip. He was right, absolutely right. He could never trust her without first knowing who she was. But how could she let him in? He'd only sprint as far away from her as possible. "You're afraid of letting me in. I am not stupid, I am not dumb. I can see that within you, Elena. I can see much inside of you. More importantly.." he began, cupping her cheek and staring into her doe eyes. "I feel as though you do not see yourself very clearly. You do not see yourself how I see you."

"How do you se-" her sentence was cut off by the sudden feel of his lips against hers. Molding together perfectly, their mouths connected and she was sent stumbling back into the wall. Her arms reached up to lock around his neck and tug at his hair, the scent of this beautiful Damon Salvatore stranger completely intoxicating her. His touch was gentle at first and then gradually increased in strength as he began to roam the outside of her body. He rested his hands on the bottom of her back, rubbing circles through the fabric of her sundress. The kiss was on fire, certainly, but Elena could hardly think about the fact that she was making out with Damon. There was something much more meaningful in the kiss. As soon as their lips connected, it was as if their minds were connected as well. She felt everything inside of him burst into her. All of his insecurities, all of his strengths, all of his thoughts were now hers. She saw glimpses of who Damon truly was - and how he, too, loathed himself. A tear rolled down her cheek as his tongue tangled with hers and his lower body grinded against hers. They were one in the same, there was nothing that could deny it. He was genuine and could understand her if only she let him. And she knew then, as he pulled back to look at her, that she should not be afraid of having him understand her. She was only afraid of losing him to something better than her entirely. Perhaps someone that knew who they were. Someone that knew what they wanted and how they felt about their lives. Elena knew none of these things and could not wrap her head around the fact that this perfect person could desire to know her. How this perfect person could call her beautiful and mean it, too. Because she wasn't. She could never be beautiful.

He wiped the tear from her cheek with his thumb and muttered, "I'm sorry, Miss Elena. I did not mean to make you cry." He began to take a step back. Elena should have clutched onto him, but she didn't.

"I.. I..." she began panting, eyes roaming the room, as if a tornado might have hit the ship and she hadn't realized. At last, she swallowed and peered at him. "I'll do it. I'll tell you everything you want to know."

* * *

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	7. Trust

_The S.S. Katherine would not make any more voyages for several years._

* * *

**CHAPTER SONG INSPIRATION:** "Fear & Loathing" by Marina and The Diamonds.

_And when the time comes along_  
_And the lights run out,_  
_I know where I will belong_  
_When they blow me out._

* * *

Elena felt like she was in therapy. Every event, every word, every action that made her who she was had been repeated to Damon in a frozen state. She had her own way of dealing with emotional pain and that was shutting down, freezing every emotion she felt so it would not overwhelm her. The only drawback to this skill was the fact that later, when she was alone, everything came tumbling down on her at once. Even before she boarded the S.S. Katherine, she could have been found on the bathroom floor stricken with sobs. There was no way of escaping it - in fact, it had become something ordinary in her life. She did her best to recall such painful memories with the utmost poker face, trying to hide the fact that she was burning intensely inside. She sat with Damon now, her legs folded neatly by her side. She was facing him, hands in her lap, and gaze stuck to the floor. He was listening to her talk about how she had believed she had been born with the gift of writing and how, at the age of six, she had began to write her own novels. "I desperately wished to become an author," she recalled. "But ended up working in journalism."

"Oh." he sighed, lifting his gaze to study her face.

"I have always been relatively happy, Damon. My life was perfect. I was taking writing classes and my beautiful New York City was all mine and I lived just three blocks from Central Park. I've never lived anywhere else. When I was eighteen, my parents and my little brother moved to Virginia. They did not wish to be in the city any longer. I never wanted to be anywhere else and the very thought that they wanted to leave...oh, Damon. I could hardly stand it! I was involved in the most horrible quarrel with my parents. My mother begged for me to remain calm but ... it was _New York._ Who could want to leave New York?" she looked at him expectantly, as if he should agree. When he said nothing she continued slowly. "Three days later, my mother and father moved south, to Virginia. I did not want them to leave, truly, but I was left with no choice. New York was all I had ever known. I had nightmares of being forced to take care of horses or ...cooking chicken. How ridiculous I was. How stupid."

Damon frowned, an uneasy emotion washing over him. He knew that this story was going to take a sudden turn, but how could he manage to help her through it? She was oddly unemotional and he reached forward to take her hand, desperately wishing he could make whatever she was fighting to expose itself. "Elena?"

"I remember the night like it was yesterday. I had moved out and gotten my own apartment in the city and never felt more free. But I was also very afraid, for I was barely in adulthood. I came home one night to find a letter in my mail. I opened it, expecting a bill, but instead found a formal letter from the small town of Mystic Falls, Virginia. They were informing me of the horrible tragedy that had occurred two nights previous. There had been a fire in the house my parents had bought. They had only lived in that house for three months. Damn it, Damon," she whined. "Three months."

"An..and your..parents?"

"They died." she said weakly. "My brother, Jeremy, died, too. They were asleep. The house caught fire. My father managed to get my brother out in time but he died by smoke inhalation later that evening. The flames engulfed my parents and by the time their bodies were found, there were hardly bodies at all. There was only a pile of sick ash and bone fragments. Mixed together." her voice cracked. "They held onto each other. It looked like that, anyhow. Even while they both burned alive, they never let go of each other." Damon had no idea how to process this information. He wanted to reach out to her and cradle her in his strong, protective arms where nothing could touch her. He expected her to be crying, or sobbing, or...something. But she remained frozen, trapped within and nothing but a voice saying 'Hold it in.' chanting to her repetitively. How do you ignore the one thing you desired to protect? How could you remain still and watched the one person you found utterly fascinating and perfect crumble to bits in front of you without a flicker of expression? Were you supposed to look away and pretend you hadn't realized as such? Were you supposed to take their hand and apologize, for you were nothing more than strangers and to do any more would seem insufficient?

"Elena," he whispered ever so softly and extended a hand to cup her face. She flinched as their skin made contact and for a split second he thought it might have been for the electric remembrance of when their lips had met, but soon he realized it was for her own personal reasons. "You can cry, sweetheart. I'll hold you."

She shook her head and leaned against his touch, wondering when Damon Salvatore had first held a woman in his arms for comfort and not for pleasure. "If I break down in front of you, I am afraid I will not be able to stop."

"Then I'll hold you forever, until you stopped. And if you never did, I would continue to hold you." he said sincerely. She stared into his eyes now, willingly letting the adoration pour out of her.

"I have just agreed to let you in, to see this part of me...this part that I cannot understand. But can you?" she questioned. "Can you understand that some days I will not be so happy, or polite, but rather rude and twisted? I hurt myself over and over again."

If this was a warning or an attempt to push him away, he was not having it. He scooted closer to her, running his fingertips along her cheek. "Then I will mend you again and again. I will wipe your eyes and tell you how important you are every second of the day until you believe it."

"Oh, Damon Salvatore," she sighed. "I will never believe I am anything."

"And this you do often?" he murmured. "Shut yourself down until later it breaks you all at once?" Elena froze, every nerve in her body suddenly still. How is it that this stranger, this attractive man, could understand her so easily? No matter how many walls she built he would climb over. No matter how many poker faces she mastered, he would see through them clear as day. It was as though he alone were her thoughts, here in front of her in the flesh. He understood that when a person, she, shut down it was only so she could shatter herself later. He understood that there were very, very bad thoughts buzzing inside of her skull. He understood that she had tried to kill herself - had thought about it, more specifically - and he did not once judge her for doing so. Anybody else would have scorned her brutally and excluded her, treating her like an alien. She was poison. Poison to be with, to touch, to mingle with. If you associated yourself with poison then you would be infected. How foolish everybody else was! Suicidal thoughts were planted and grown, not transferred through one another like a plague. They could never look in the mirror and see what she saw. They could not feel what she felt. But Damon could - Damon _did_. In that moment the planet stopped rotating again and she gripped his arm, nails digging into his skin. He did not flinch as she uttered out the words, "You are the same as I am." There was no uncertainty in his eyes, no confusion. He knew exactly what she was implying. How brave he was, she realized. _How brave to help when you yourself are as broken as broke could be, like me._

"Yes." he mouthed as Elena willingly wrapped herself around him, clinging to him like he was some sort of anchor weighing her down. He threw his arms around her protectively, holding her highly against his chest and pressing his lips against her tiny skull. "Yes, my light. I feel as you do. I loathe myself, I do not see what others see of me."

She felt like crying, then. As if this facade of no-emotion was dying out. A lost cause. "Leaving New York meant death. I've been terrible ill ever since. I feel as though I am dying, Damon. Slowly but surely I am dying like my parents had when they left New York."

He hugged her closer. "You left New York. That is hardly certain death,"

Elena peered up at him, pulling away from his warm chest. "It must be for if my family hadn't left they would still be here! With me! Oh why me, Damon? Why was I spared? Jeremy had been so beautiful and my mother so wise and my father so noble.." and then she quickly ducked her head against him and let him hold her for another few minutes. He said nothing, which was exactly what she wanted him to do. Just hold her, just remind her that it was alright to be alive. After a very long time she felt the single tear roll down her cheek and she whispered, "I cannot remember who I am any more."

"Then I'll remind you, because I cannot stop thinking about you. Worrying about you. Wanting you to be in my arms. That is the safest place for you to be, you know."

"Yes... I am starting to see that now. You understand, you have from the moment we spoke."

"Then you see that I care about you? No matter if it be oceans or continents between us I cannot forget my light."

"I need somebody to care. Just one person, really, since nobody else does. If they do, they have poor ways of showing it. I am not asking you to care, only hoping. That is all I can hope for me, since I am nothing."

"I care!" he assured. "And please stop implying that you are nothing, my little light. You are everything." and he nuzzled her neck, finding her blue sundress appealing. "I wish to know more. Tell me more?"

She took a deep, steady breath. "I often feel as if life has become a nightmare. Every moment I wake up and question why I have yet to die in the night. How can I still breathe when I do not want to? Blood takes appeal to me...I like hurting myself. One day I will hurt myself permanently and I am very afraid because those thoughts do not scare me at all. In fact, I welcome the day I make everybody wish they had cared more."

"It can feel like nobody cares about you, but they do. Like you've stated, they simply have poor ways of showing their affections."

"I...think...that somebody cares. Like Rebekah. Oh take her for instance! I feel as though after all this time her loyalty to me has been false and she is no more of a friend to me than Caroline Forbes."

"Caroline really is not your friend, then?" he whispered.

"Truly not. I only owe her for this _darling_ experience on the S.S Katherine." Elena muttered. "I am very tired of pretending. Of faking these smiles and going to bed miserable. Enough about me...how could you, of all people, dislike yourself?"

He stiffened then, arms locking around her like iron. "Since I was born, I was to be viewed a certain way. When people look at me, they expect something of me. They would assume I am very smart or conceited or arrogant or an asshole..." he sighed heavily. "And the minute I turn out to be something different, something their minds hadn't thought of me, they begin running the other way. All they ever see is Damon Salvatore, elder son of Giuseppe Salvatore. They view me as a rich prize, an heir, when I am nothing more than a drunken man with a desire to be free."

"How could you feel that way? Pardon me, not how...but... oh, I'm so confused! You have a wonderful life."

"Wonderful does not always mean happy , Elena."

"Of course it doesn't." she whispered in agreement. "Damon, I want you to... to understand that as long as you are here to understand me, to never let me go, I shall do the same. Nothing could pry me from your side. Know that, and know that my word is absolute."

Damon sighed in relief and pulled her from him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It had fallen from her loose bun and he could not help but admire how beautiful she was. Elena had the eyes of an angel and once he gazed into them, he found himself unable to look away. Her pure, helpless soul was hidden beneath those chocolate orbs and he desired to fall into them forever. And her voice! Oh, her voice. It could start a war, her voice. Or stop one. It was like the mermaids drawing in the sailors by the sound of the sirens. He simply could not resist it; it was beautiful and fragile. He would protect her, no matter what. No matter if it killed him. No matter if something somewhere tried to separate them. He and her were the same and he needed her now. He needed her stubbornness and her broken state to remind him that he was not alone in this world and if he were to tackle it alone, it would be alright because Elena would stand beside him. He was not afraid as long as he could have her. "You feel as though nobody cares. But I care, Elena. I will care about you forever more until we are no more than dirt in the ground."

"I'm trusting you," she whispered, tracing the circles of his eyes with the tips of her fingertips. She knew this would become a habit of hers, for she could never imagine that Damon Salvatore was ever capable of the words he was saying now. He was nothing illusory, not a figment of her imagination and certainly not a nightmare. He was her own personal angel and, at the same time, her own devil. But she knew deep in her soul that this is how it was meant to be - him and her, here, together. He was opening her up like it was the easiest thing in the world. Unbelievably, he was not running from the terror beneath her exterior. Even more unbelievable was that she was letting him see who she was even if _she_ did not know. He was not refusing to face the reflection, the unreal Elena Gilbert. He was hoping to find her underneath and cherish her. They were both messed up people and she was utterly aware of her finger that she had burned the night before. The finger that would not burn; the pain she could not feel. "You musn't leave me alone." she said seriously, quietly, and looked him in those blue eyes. "I will hurt myself."

He took her hand and pressed it against his lips, lingering them for longer than necessary. "And I shall not leave you alone, then, my light." He opened his eyes slowly and eyed the wounds on her underarms. "I will never forgive myself for losing my temper. For as long as I live, I will always remember the one time I harmed you."

"It's alright," she assured him, lips close to his. They desired to taste him again, just to see if she had imagined the kiss. It _was_ real, right? "I liked the pain, actually. A lot. It reminded me that I was able to be shattered. I am not special, nor indestructible, but I am human and as easily damaged as the next."

"Oh Elena," Damon breathed. "Do not make me kiss you again."

"Okay." she murmured, leaning forward, teasing him. "Is it safe for me to make you kiss me, then?"

Their mouths collided as one, every thought passing through each other at the speed of light. Her sundress suddenly felt very bare against her legs and she shivered as his hands guided themselves down to her hips where he gripped at the thin material. She took a deep breath and pulled away. "The best part of me is you, now. That is all that is left of me."

Damon smiled slightly and shook his head, licking his lips. "You're wrong. _You_ are the best part of _me_. You see me as what I truly am; and not what I appear to be. Which is why I will protect you now."

"Do you trust me now?"

There was silence among them, a silence that made Elena feel sickly. He was thinking, debating whether or not to trust her, of course. But she understood him, she understood why he could be hesitant. Trust was something that could not be given easily, it was thing to be earned. Often those that trusted easily were also hurt the most easily and frequently. However, trust is tricky - to never give it out would to be forever closed up, with nothing but your own thoughts to destroy you. There could be no venting, no understanding, no commitment between two people. Without trust there were no friendships. Without trust, they could never work. She clung to him, peering up with rounded eyes. _Trust me,_ she pleaded. _Because I trust you. I need you to remind me who I am, and who I have always been. _Without Damon, now, there would be nothing to do. She felt very much as though she would do something drastic. If he were to abandon her, she would go off the deep end. She would sink to the bottom of the ocean. Perhaps swallow too much medication. That could be a way to go, to just drift to sleep in hopes she would dream of Damon Salvatore, the one that understood her... Or she could tie something heavy to her ankle and throw herself off the ship. That would be awful, she decided. Imagine the pressure! The sinking feeling in your chest as you plummeted to the deep, vast ocean with your thoughts only to change your mind. But it would be too late, her eyeballs would explode from their sockets and she would succumb to the water until she sank deeper, deeper, deeper, hitting the sandy bottom only to never be found, never rescued. They would hold her funeral with an empty casket and a framed photo of her. Some people would cry, wishing they did something for her when she were alive. But was that not how it always went with a young person's death? Gone too young? Nothing, she would whisper as a spirit. Nobody did anything because you were all blind and heartless! And here I am, here I am dead and gone. I will be forgotten, my death will fade as spring merges into summer. Nobody will make an effort to remember the girl that died too young because she was 'sick' when, actually, she was not. This, what she felt, was reality. Reality killed the girl too young..

"Don't make me regret it." he said seriously and she could not help but wrap her arms around his neck and inhale him.

"Thank you." she murmured.

"But firstly.." he cleared his throat, a strange twinkle in his eyes. Mischief. "You must tell me one thing, and one thing only. Can you do that for me? Then it's just us." Elena swallowed and nodded against the crook she had leaned her forehead into. His fingers began trailing down her back, rubbing in perfect little circles. "Why..did you...throw your notebook?"

Elena groaned.

* * *

Golden doors. They were absolutely beautiful with their silver handles and their shiny, reflective paint. The mere idea that the doors were made from anything other than pure gold was ridiculous and heartbreaking. What was more beautiful than the doors? Why, the person that lay beyond them. Behind those doors was a single soul that had pledged his life to her and would whisper how much he loved her against her skin. Palm to palm they would stand, foreheads together. "How I love you so." he would muse, something he did more than often. She would sigh and lean into him, pressing her lips against his and tasting the sweetness that he was.

"And how I love you," she would reply, always.

They would stay like that, lost in time. Lost in a world behind closed, golden doors where nothing could separate them. It was foolish to believe so; they were meant for each other, they were! No woman could ever be with him and no man could ever be with him after this. It was either them, together, or death. "I wish I could show you off to the world," he murmured against her cheek, eyes closed.

She nodded slightly. "Yes. But it does not matter what the world knows. Only what you and I know. They would never understand anyway, would they?"

"You are right, beautiful." he nodded. "They would not. Nobody could ever understand what is between us."

She smiled widely and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. He was not that much taller than her (he never had been) and yet she would never have it any other way. This was her rock, her escape, and she needed him like the ocean needed the fish. Well, not exactly the best comparison, right? She almost laughed out loud. How silly he could make her think! "And what _is_ between us?" she asked innocently, peering up at him with wide eyes.

"Oh, as if you do not know!" he chuckled, pressing his lips against the side of her head. "I was referring to the fact that I don't want to be with anybody but you. And no matter what anyone will assume of us, I will always be here for you.'

"You make me have hope for us. That someday..this sneaking around will pay off." and then she casually added, "I would never give up on this. Even if it meant hiding behind closed doors with you. I'd do it forever _just_ so I could have you."

Stefan let out a relieved sigh. The sound of her words were enchanting. He knew, then, that it did not matter what his brother thought. Or his father. Or Caroline's father. As long as he could have Caroline Forbes all to himself, he would be content. He would stay like this forever, even if he did want to show her off. He just needed her in his life. Trying to explain the rest would be pointless. They usually met in this room, he always waiting for her behind the golden doors. They were in the Gold Room, of course. It was an unusually vacant ballroom that should have been used for dances and events within the VIP passengers. Stefan had no clue why Ronald Pierce never used it, but he was not exactly complaining. When they weren't in his room, they were in hers, and when they weren't there they were here.

"How did you like your dinner? How did everyone else?" he asked suddenly.

She giggled. "It was wonderful! Victoria Donovan wanted seconds! Oh, Stefan, you are the greatest cook. Promise you'll cook for me, only me?"

"I promise, sweetheart. Anything you'd like."

"Well first..." she tilted her head upward until he pressed his lips on hers. Then she continued, her voice high pitched and squeaky. "By the way, I've got some juicy news to inform you. It concerns your big brother, Stefan."

Stefan stiffened. "Pardon me?"

* * *

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